Kirihara Akaya
by Stormy1x2
Summary: Done for LJ's fanfic100 claim, a series of linked drabbles following the claim order. Posted 10 drabbles to a chapter. My take on Kirihara, following the anime but not the manga, as I haven't read it. Slightly AU. Mild shonen ai if you look hard.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: **Stormy1x2

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairings: **None really thus far, though a few hints at Sana x Yuki, Niou x Yagyuu

**Warnings: **mentions of violence, some language

**Notes: **Done for the fanfic100 challenge on livejournal. 100 linked drabbles. Covers Kirihara's entrance to Rikkai up until the anime and beyond.

**Episodic Spoilers: **None thus far.

**--------**

**001. **Beginnings

He watched them through the mesh fence, hands tightening into claws around the thin bits of metal. They were undefeated, strong. Godlike in their world, a world he would soon be a part of. _That_ was what he wanted. _That_ was what he needed. The power. The speed. The recognition. The acknowledgment. He wanted all of that and more, and he would get it.

He would take them on; learn from them, crush them and then crumble them to dust under his foot. That was the way he knew, the way of life, the way of Rikkai. The strong beat the weak and rose up, and he would stand above them all.

He released his grip on the fence, ignoring the sharp twinges of pain coming from where he'd torn his skin on the metal, and walked away. Soon, he'd be recognized. They would all know and fear the name Kirihara Akaya.

Word Count: 152 / 152

**002.** Middles

He fell to his knees, bracing himself on his hands in the dirt. He sucked in harsh gasps of air, feeling dizzy and not just a little faint. He knew he'd overdone his training, but there was no other way around it.

He'd been beaten; thoroughly defeated by all three of the demons. He was weak; unworthy. Yanagi-sempai had graciously allowed him to win a game – most likely to get more of his precious data – before trouncing him into the ground. Sanada-fukoubuchou steamrolled through him, squashing him six games to love without pause. And Yukimura-Buchou...

Yukimura-Buchou had stopped the game at three games to love and told him to go clean up, in that soft voice of his. That voice of pity. Kirihara squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let even a single tear fall over his losses. Only weaklings cried. He was a survivor. He would not be weak. He would not give up; there was no middle ground for him. He would walk the hard road to victory even if it killed him.

Kirihara forced himself to stand up, ignoring the aches and pains of straining muscles, and staggered off into the night to do another set of laps.

---

From their concealed spot next to the clubhouse, Yukimura and Sanada watched with narrowed eyes. Their eyes met briefly – a look passed between them, and they both nodded firmly.

Kirihara was coming along nicely.

Word Count: 239 / 391

**003.** Ends

Marui snapped his bubble gum absently as he watched the first year matches. The little hell-raiser – _what his name, Kiri-something_ – was mopping the floor with his current opponent. No one had been able to score a single point on the brat, not even some of the second years who'd dared to try.

The kid was something else. Tiny, skinny, but bursting with energy, and raw power and _man_ did he have a temper. Marui shuddered – those red eyes were _creepy_.

"So what do you think of our little Aka-chan, Marui?"

Yukimura-buchou's gentle voice drifted past his ears. Marui often wondered how his captain could make himself sound so harmless, when in actuality, he was a terrifying monster with demon-enhanced tennis playing abilities.

"He's good," Marui shrugged. "Damn good. Whose getting the boot?"

"Mitsake-kun has been...slipping," Yukimura murmured.

Marui nodded. The idiotic third year with sub-par skill had had a crush on Yukimura since first year, and it was only getting worse. Sanada was probably close to killing him. Dropping him from the Regulars before that happened would be like a mercy killing.

He stood there with his Buchou, watching as Sanada strode across the courts, Yanagi-sempai in tow, to inform Akaya of his new Regular status. The red-eyed kid had a weird look on his face that gave Marui the chills.

He had a feeling things were going to be interesting from that point on.

Word Count: 245 / 636

**004.** Insides

He'd made it. He'd _made_ it. He was a Regular. Okay, so technically he was an alternate, and not likely to see any official match time anytime soon, but he was still a Rikkai Regular.

Kirihara held up the jersey that Yukimura had presented to him during the Regulars welcome party they'd thrown him in the clubhouse. He ran his fingers along the soft material, memorizing the feel, inhaling the scent. His. All his. He'd done it. Part one of his plan to become the best player Rikkai had ever seen was complete, and the proof was sitting right there in his hands.

Outside of his bedroom, he could hear his mother and father shouting at each other. His father was leaving tomorrow for another lengthy business trip. He didn't even know that his son had made the Regulars – Akaya hadn't told him. Either of them. There was no point. They'd never cared about anything he'd done before; he had no reason to believe that this time would be different.

Kirihara brought the jersey back up to his nose, rubbing his face against it like a purring cat, and wondered if this was what acceptance felt like.

Word Count: 197 / 833

**005. **Outsides

Yukimura stood at the edge of the courts, clipboard in hand. The sun was bright, making it necessary to shield his eyes with his hand as he kept watch over the first years.

"Here."

He turned and neatly caught the sunglasses his second-in-command threw at him. "Thank you, Sanada."

Sanada grunted and moved up beside him, glaring across the courts. "They are weak."

"Not all of them," Yukimura mused thoughtfully. "Akaya is doing well."

"He loses his temper far too easily. He lacks discipline and focus."

"Which is something we'll just have to teach him then, won't we?"

"It will take time, but I believe it can be done." Renji joined the two of them, notebook in hand. "He is doing much better then he was at the beginning. He only injured two of his three opponents during practice matches, and he used thirteen percent less force on the second one. I believe he is _finally_ beginning to acclimatize."

"They don't like him very much," Yukimura pointed out. "He's not welcome among the other first years."

"He is a Regular," Sanada said gruffly. "He will be treated differently, regardless of how he plays. He's better off playing at full-strength, all the time."

Yukimura nodded, but still looked a bit troubled.

"I surmise that Akaya has had numerous difficulties in life," Renji said quietly. "I've gathered a lot of interesting data from him, and from what I know from my psychology texts, is that violence continues in a cycle. He picked up those tendencies from somewhere. There is an eighty-nine percent chance of it being from his immediate family."

They digested his words. "He'll learn from us," Yukimura said after a minute. "He's young. And he fits in with the rest of us with little trouble."

"That could be due to the fact that several of us could technically qualify as legally insane, or with severe sadistic tendencies," Renji said dryly.

Sanada snorted. "I hope you're referring to Niou."

The data specialist chuckled. "Of course."

"He'll learn," Yukimura repeated softly, bringing them back on topic. "And in the meantime, we have work to do." His eyes glinted, like light off the edge of a blade. "Let's get to it."

Word Count: 372 / 1205

**006.** Hours

Kirihara had a habit of practicing long after the others had finished. After they had gone home, he could usually still be found against a wall somewhere on the school grounds, slamming away at the ball relentlessly, trying to drive away some of the restless energy that plagued him. He didn't want to go home – he was a lousy cook, and it was doubtful there was anything prepared at home. His mother was the queen of take-out, and he hated the food she brought home.

If he went home now, he'd have to cook. That meant spending time in the kitchen listening to his mother verbally bash his father, and look to him for agreement. Even ramen noodles took three minutes of time he'd rather spend improving the new serve he was slowly developing. He squeezed the ball tightly. 'Knuckle Serve' – that had a nice ring to it.

Throwing the ball high into the air, he smashed it again.

Word Count: 160 / 1365

**007.** Days

Jackal wondered about Akaya. He wondered and he worried. Having been appointed as the brat's unofficial caretaker, he felt he was coming to know the kid fairly well, and what he was learning disturbed him.

Kirihara had just finished a match against some second year in record time. It was supposed to have been a practice match, but the second year had won a game off Akaya, and had made a joking remark about Akaya's ability to handle being a Regular.

Jackal didn't know how else to describe it – it was as though Kirihara had gone blank for a minute, until an undeniably evil-looking smirk grew on his face. His eyes had actually gone _red_, for Buddha's sake! That was _not_ normal.

Kirihara went on to not only demolish the second year six games to one, but severely bruised his arms and legs too. Jackal knew that only Yukimura and Sanada's admonishments to the first year to not cripple his teammates, kept Akaya from targeting those oh-so-vulnerable joints. Then his eyes had cleared, and he stood there for a minute, watching his opponent crawl away, a hint of confusion, residual anger, and something else left on his face.

Briefly, he wondered if he should say something to someone - say, Buchou, for instance. Then he turned his head and saw Yukimura-Buchou and Yanagi-sempai watching Kirihara, and he relaxed. If he had noticed something was amiss with the first year, then they had definitely see it too.

No doubt Yanagi-sempai would have a plan to deal with Akaya's burgeoning temper drawn up and ready to execute, in the days to come.

Word Count: 275 / 1640

**008.** Weeks

Sanada pulled the brim of his cap down as he watched over his team. While there had been much improvement over the weeks, there was still room for much more. Marui was still consuming far too much sugar then was healthy for him, even if it did help his stamina. Sanada was going to prescribe more running drills. On a treadmill set to a very high level. Preferably with a steep incline. There was just no excuse for requiring half of an entire cheesecake sprinkled with chocolate just before a match.

Niou and his new partner Yagyuu were coming along nicely. Their ability to mesh together almost as one player on the court was racking them victory after victory. Sanada was willing to overlook the strange behaviors and conversations they were exhibiting after matches lately – something about wigs, and _no_, he really didn't want to know – as long as they kept their levels up.

Jackal was proceeding as expected, according to Renji's elaborate graphing system. More weight training was going to be the focus next term for him. Being half-Bazillion, he possessed a bigger, stronger frame and he would do well to take advantage of the gift genetics gave him.

Even Akaya was doing well. There was still his alarming habit of blanking out during a match, almost 'turning feral', as Niou put it. Renji had consulted the numerous physicians in his family and had deduced that the redness of Akaya's eyes was due to high-blood pressure brought on by stressful situations and poor anger management skills. This was not entirely healthy, particularly over the long run, but for the time being, it served as a deterrent to his opponents, and a barometer to his teammates.

Sanada was not concerned with either his progress or Renji's. Both of them knew their strengths and weaknesses and had a set schedule of training tailored specifically for them.

No, his concern was for Yukimura, who had been looking rather pale lately. Too pale for an athlete who spent the bulk of his time training under the sun. According to Renji, Yukimura had lost weight too. This was unacceptable. He planned to confront Yukimura after practice the next day to discuss it.

Until then, he still had a team to run.

"30 laps!"

"Yes, Fukou-buchou!"

Word Count: 384 / 2024

**009.** Months

Kirihara didn't understand why everyone was so excited. Who else was going to be the National Champions? He'd known for months that no other school could hold a candle to Rikkai. His sempai were super-scary tennis demons that ate schools like Seigaku and Hyoutei for breakfast. Well, okay – Tezuka from Seigaku? Kirihara was willing to admit he had some skill. And Hyoutei had that girly freak Atobe who kept staring at Sanada-fukoubuchou and Yukimura-buchou like he was thinking thoughts he shouldn't be. Didn't matter – they still lost out to his sempai, like he knew they would.

As an alternate, Kirihara hadn't gotten to play. He had known the odds of him getting game time were rare, but that still hadn't made it easy to just sit there and watch. But that was alright. He'd get his turn some day. And no one would be safe when he did.

That was his way.

Word Count: 155 / 2175

**010.** Years

When Yukimura collapsed on the court during a routine practice, Kirihara felt his whole world come to a stop. His racquet slipped from numb fingers as he watched Sanada break land speed records to get to their Buchou. It seemed everyone was running over but he couldn't get his legs to move. A thousand pounds worth of weights were strapped to his feet, keeping him still.

Across the courts, he could see Sanada's mouth moving, presumably calling for an ambulance. Niou had his cell phone out, already dialing. Kirihara tried again to move, to do something, but he couldn't. His mind was filled with racing thoughts of what life would be like without Yukimura.

Yukimura, the leader of the demons whom he had yet to defeat.

Yukimura, who protected him from the wrath of Sanada whenever he pulled a prank.

Yukimura, the one who talked gently to him when he was in one of his red-eyed rages, calming him faster then anyone else had ever managed.

Yukimura... the big brother he'd never had before. The big brother he wasn't ready to let go of yet.

Akaya saw the wash of red and blue lights play over the court and thought maybe he'd aged a hundred years in the span of a few seconds.

Word Count: 214 / 2388

----

More to come shortly. Feedback greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Kirihara Akaya

**Author: **Stormy1x2

**Rating:** PG-13 overall

**Pairings:** None really, but slight hints of Sanada/Yukimura, or Niou/Yagyuu if you look.

**Warnings: **Language, hints of domestic violence

**Episodic spoilers: **The results of Rikkai vs Fudoumine

**Notes:** I really have to thank **reposoir** for making me rethink how I wanted to portray Kirihara. I haven't changed my stance on it - but I did go back and touch up some bits to try and better reflect my take.

That being that Akaya is not mentally stable. Anyone who deliberately sets out to injure or hurt someone else, and takes joy in their pain when they succeed, is borderline psychopathic. Kirihara, to me, also operates on complete opposite ends of the personality spectrum. We've seen him act like a little kid when he tries to spy on Seigaku, and we've seen the red-eyed demon he becomes when he plays Tachibana and Fuji. As a result, as **uminohikari** pointed out, it's like I'm writing two different Kirihara's. It's almost like Akaya has a mild form of MPD, though without the actual multiples. ;; I also have my theories as to why he is this way. Again, it's my take on it - feel free to disagree. Anyway, as we get closer to the Senbatsu arc, I will try to reflect the changes he went through, in the fics.

Also, as I mentioned, I've never read the manga. My characterizations are based on the very few appearances we've seen of him in the anime, and the fics I've read of others. If Kirihara is acting completely OOC to how he is in the manga (or any of the other Rikkaidai players), I apologize, and maybe you'll want to read someone else's take on them instead. Consider this an AU, if you will.

I don't know how well it comes across, but I'm more or less happy with it now. Still, there's always room for improvement, especially with me - C&C always appreciated.

**-------------------------------------------**

**011. **Red

Sanada watched with a frown as Kirihara tore through his opponent like an unleashed hurricane. His eyes had been red from the start of the match – he'd arrived at the tennis grounds in an abominable mood, and he wouldn't let anyone near him. Not even Marui, who'd tried to tempt him into a better temper by sharing – Marui, _sharing_ – one of his deluxe chocolate cakes, had been able to coax a smile out of the irate second-year.

Sanada permitted himself a small sigh and pushed the brim of his hat down even further. If Yukimura were here, he'd know what to do. Seiichi always did.

Kirihara's opponent collapsed to the ground, moaning in agony from joints that were forming wicked bone-deep bruises, courtesy of Akaya's deadly accuracy. The second year stalked over, the red tinge in his eyes slowly fading away, but he was still tense, still scowling angrily at nothing and everything.

If Yukimura were here, he'd talk to Akaya. He'd calm him down, perhaps play a quick rally with him to get rid of that last bit of energy his opponent hadn't been strong enough to sap. But Yukimura wasn't here.

His hand struck the back of Akaya's head lightly, just strong enough to sting and get his attention.

"Ten laps around the grounds," he barked. "Jackal, keep him out of trouble."

Kirihara snarled soundlessly but dropped his racquet and went. Jackal followed a safe distance behind. Sanada watched them go, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Word Count: 255 / 2430

**012. **Orange

Yagyuu stepped outside onto the school grounds and made his way over to the tree where he usually ate his lunch. It was far enough from the school that he wasn't easily spotted by the hordes of tennis groupies, but close enough that he could see what was going on.

Normally Yagyuu ate lunch with Niou, but his doubles partner was home sick with a cold that had seemed to spring up overnight. He'd texted Yagyuu to let him know, but by the time Yagyuu had gotten the message, he'd already been on his way to school. And as he normally shared his lunch with Niou (whose parents left for work early in the morning and did not have time to prepare one for him) who would otherwise eat the abysmal offerings provided by the campus vending machines, this left him alone with an enormous bento.

Yagyuu settled down on one of the massive tree roots that served as a chair. As he pulled his bag to him, a movement caught his eye and he saw Kirihara heading for the dreaded vending machines along the school wall. He looked down at his over-sized lunch thoughtfully.

"Akaya!"

The second year turned around, squinting in the sunlight. He caught sight of Yagyuu and made his way over, glaring at him suspiciously. "What?"

Yagyuu smiled calmly and handed his teammate a pair of chopsticks, before snapping his own neatly in two. "Please, help yourself."

Akaya looked at the chopsticks he'd been given. "...Why?" he finally asked, wrinkling his nose. "What's wrong with it?"

Yagyuu would have snorted, but the Gentleman never gave in to such crass habits. That was Niou's domain. "My lunch is far too big for one person, and Niou is not here to assist me. As you do not have a lunch of your own, I thought I would share with you. Is that all right?"

Kirihara blinked owlishly, but eventually nodded. He poked a section of omelet roll. "Is that onion?" His stomach growled.

Yagyuu hid a smile. "Of course," he said, handing over a tin of fruit. "Mandarin?"

Word Count: 350 / 2780

**013.** Yellow

Kirihara is anything but a coward. On the first day of tennis practice, freshmen year, didn't he stand up and challenge the three demons? Losses notwithstanding, he has never backed down from a challenge; he's never run away from a fight. He's not as smart as Yanagi-sempai and he's not built like the Rock of Gibraltar like Sanada. He's not quite as tricky as Niou (though it's been argued that he's just as sadistic), he's not charming like Yagyuu, he's not a _tensai_ like Marui and he's not as good as Yukimura (yet). He's not even reliable, like Jackal.

But one thing he's not, and never will be, is a coward.

Kirihara looked up at the window leading to the living room of his house and saw the tell-tale shadows of waving, yelling figures. Avoiding his parents was a matter of intelligence, he told himself over and over again as he slowly walked away.

Word Count: 156 / 2936

**014.** Green 

"Puke," Akaya declared staunchly.

"Puce," Marui corrected him.

"No, I mean 'puke', Marui-sempai!" Akaya scowled at the walls of Yukimura's hospital room. "Puke, as in puke green, not purple. How's Buchou supposed to heal when the walls look like they're covered in vomit?"

"Enough, Akaya," Sanada snapped. The vein on his forehead throbbed alarmingly.

Yukimura grinned. "It's alright," he said soothingly. "This is only temporary. They're moving me into my own private room on the fourth floor later."

"What color are the walls there?"

"White," Renji said automatically. He didn't look up from his notebook.

"Great." Kirihara looked disgusted. "Instead of 'puke', now Buchou gets 'boring'." He brightened suddenly. "I'll draw you a picture to put on the wall so it's not so boring!"

Yukimura nodded. "Good idea, Aka-chan," he praised. Kirihara beamed happily.

Niou rolled his eyes. "How old is he again?"

Yukimura's eyes narrowed. "Sanada."

"Niou! Thirty laps when we get back to school!"

Kirihara giggled as Niou groaned.

Word Count: 163 / 3098

**015.** Blue

_Is that him?_

_I heard he broke the arm of his last opponent._

_Yeah? I heard he beat up his own first year teammates last year._

_What a creep. Did you see his eyes turn red? Freaky._

_He's scary. Don't get too close to him._

Kirihara squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the whispers that followed him around school. Pain registered in his mouth where he'd bitten through his bottom lip. If it didn't involve tennis, it was unimportant. Tightening his grip on his tennis bag, he resolutely made his way to the tennis courts,

_Freak._

_Monster._

_Evil._

_Unwanted._

_Use it_, a voice urged him. _Use it and be strong. Don't let them get you down. Don't let them win._

Kirihara's eyes opened, and he licked his lips, savoring the taste of blood. A second year walked past him, and Akaya's hand snapped out, grabbing his jersey.

"K-Kirihara-kun!" The boy gasped, frozen in Akaya's grip. 'What...?"

"Play me," Kirihara purred, and turned towards the court, dragging his hapless victim behind him.

Word Count: 173 / 3273

**016. **Purple

Akaya was a fascinating creature, Yanagi decided. One minute, he could be a red-eyed monster, slaughtering a helpless first year in what was supposed to be a practice match. The next, he was like a young child, begging Marui for a taste of the tensai's home-made cakes, or squabbling with Niou like a bratty younger sibling. His mercurial moods were ever-changing, and it was anyone's guess as to what would cause the switch. Yanagi prided himself and his data for having a better-than-average surmisal about which way the Akaya-hurricane was blowing on any given day.

Still, sometimes he wished he didn't have the acute observational skills that let him predict Akaya's moods. Particularly when the information he collected from his youngest teammate – for example, the newest blue and purple bruise on his arm, or the faintest hint of red in the shape of a splayed hand across a sharply-defined cheekbone – was so easy to spot at times.

Word Count: 164 / 3437

**017.** Brown

Kirihara's eyes gleamed a dull red. He licked his lips eagerly as he waited in a crouch, like a tiger stalking its prey. His prey was already wounded. It limped along, trying in vain to match the predator move for move, dirt smears covering its body, its limbs; visual reminders of countless falls to the unyielding ground.

Coming in high – there! Kirihara launched himself into the air. Sparing a single glance downward at his target, he fired his shot with all the power he had. A direct hit. As always. As was expected.

Kirihara watched Fudomine's Tachibana Kippei crumple to the ground in agony, and smirked. As expected, he'd won. Incontrovertible proof that he was every bit as strong and worthy of the name Rikkai as anyone else. That was something he'd do anything to protect, even at the expense of another player.

It was all he had.

Word Count: 150 / 3580

**018.** Black

Niou watched with narrowed eyes as Kirihara stalked away from the court. The entire team was quiet, watching their youngest member as he stuffed his things inside his tennis bag and walked off.

This was common. After disabling an opponent and securing the win, Kirihara had a habit of disappearing for a few minutes. He claimed it was to do a proper cool down like Sanada-fukoubuchou was always after him to do, but Niou knew better.

Nodding to Yagyuu, he slipped away discretely and followed Akaya. The courts were lined by a forest, and behind the tree line, he could see Kirihara pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. He tangled his fingers in his hair, tugging them hard, and then let go to resume pacing around the small clearing.

Niou knew that Kirihara liked to think he had a heart dark as night to the rest of the world, but there was more to him then that. He seemed to enjoy hurting people – almost as though something inside him was encouraging him to be as tough as he could be, and Niou knew enough about Akaya's family to have an idea where those thoughts might have come from. But sometimes, after the anger faded, after the adrenaline rush was gone, guilt, or something like it, seemed to overtake the second year.

But it couldn't be guilt, could it? Wouldn't guilt keep Kirihara from doing it again?

Niou shrugged off his thoughts. It was none of his business, and hey, he didn't care what happened to the other players – it had nothing to do with him at all. And it wasn't like he could stop Kirihara anyway – not even Yukimura-buchou had been able to do that. Not that they really tried. The kid _was_ getting the wins, after all.

But he'd stay there and watch to make sure that the kid didn't... do something rash. That, he could do.

Word Count: 320 / 3900

**019.** White

Yukimura hung up the room phone slowly. Another victory for Rikkai – as was to be expected. Sanada had reported, in stark detail, everything that had occurred, including Kirihara's vicious win over Tachibana Kippei.

The competitor inside Seiichi Yukimura was not overly concerned. There were always risks when one stepped onto the battle field, and Tachibana was at a level where he should have known and prepared accordingly. Perhaps the Tachibana Seiichi recalled had gone soft over at Fudomine.

But the friend inside Seiichi was a bit worried about his youngest kouhai. Kirihara's rages and attacks were growing in strength, particularly as his game improved under Sanada's watchful eye. There was just so much anger, so much hate inside Kirihara.

Yukimura's eyes softened. There was also a plea for help in Akaya's eyes, nearly invisible to everyone except the ones who had gotten to him – which was pretty much just the Regulars.

Yukimua looked up at the white walls of his room, focusing on the one splotch of color hung opposite his bed. Drawn in color pencils was a picture that featured everything Kirihara apparently liked. A plate of what Yukimura assumed was yakiniku (Kirihara's favorite), and an orange kite that looked like a bird. A yellow star shining brightly as opposed to a sun. A blue river cut through half the paper, filled with brightly colored fish. Snowflakes done in silver. A tennis racquet and a bunch of tennis balls. A yellow jersey with 'Rikkai' scrawled across it, taking up up the entire top left corner. It was the biggest item there. The picture was something that would seem completely out of character to anyone who didn't know the other side to Kirihara, the side he didn't show anyone but his teammates.

Great art, it wasn't. But it spoke volumes to Seiichi and the other members of the team, particularly Marui who had snapped his gum and asked why, if this was a picture of everything Kirihara liked, there wasn't a crushed opponent on a tennis court.

Yukimura studied the picture, thinking over Sanada's game report. He wasn't overly concerned yet, but eventually there was sure to be a formal complaint from someone. Something needed to be done before there were serious consequences. A suspension from the team would probably destroy Akaya.

He wondered what it would take to make such a change without taking away Akaya's edge. Perhaps Renji work on that...

Word Count: 398 / 4298

**020.** Colorless

Akaya groaned under his breath as his teacher droned on and on about stupid things like tenses, and verbs. English class was not only his hardest class, but it was also the most _boring_. What use was he going to have for English? He lived in Japan! And when he became the most famous tennis player in the world one day, well, that's what translators were for._Che_.

Staring out the window didn't help, either. The wind outside was strong, and the sky was washed out, bleached of anything resembling color. It was as boring as the classroom. Kirihara griped silently, and vowed to do something to Niou later. Not that Niou was to blame for his boredom, but getting him with a prank would at least entertain him.

Provided, of course, that he made it behind Yukimura fast enough that the Trickster didn't catch him afterwards.

Word Count: 147 / 4445

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More to come soon. :) Thank you to those who have reviewed. It's appreciated. A lot. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Kirihara Akaya

**Author: **Stormy1x2 ( travelingstorm )

**Challenge:** LJ's fanfic100

**Prompts: **21 to 30

**Pairings: **Very, very mild Sana x Yuki, or Platinum Pair. Maybe a _hint_ of Marui x Kirihara but miniscule.

**Warnings:** mild language, mature themes

**Notes: **I could have made a big deal about Kirihara's home situation with some of these particular prompts, but I decided to go a different route. I'm still building the situation up, rather then trying to force feed it to people via specific prompts.

**Additional:** This follows the anime and not the manga. _This is an __**AU**__from how Kirihara is in manga canon._ I adore C&C regarding grammar, tenses, spelling, sentence structure or awkward phrasing, but please don't tell me how to write MY storyline. If this is not your cup of tea, there's the back button. Feel free to use it at any time. This is my interpretation. If it bothers you, please write your own.

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**021. **Friends

Kirihara couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd had a best friend, other then himself. The first couple of years of grade school were a bit of a blur – okay, so his memory wasn't the greatest if it didn't involve tennis – but he definitely did not have a best friend. Or friends, in general. People, in his opinion, had a tendency to suck.

He remembered in his second year of primary school when his classmates had decided to have an impromptu race at lunch. Kirihara had been one of the ones in front, but he'd stumbled and tripped. He remembered his classmates laughing at him. He remembered the teacher's angry shouts as she pulled him off Kenji, who had been the loudest. He did not clearly remember what happened that night after his parents received a call from the principal. But he did remember most of his classmates avoiding him from that point on.

Marui rolled his eyes and plopped the chocolate bar in his hand. "Just take it, you brat!"

Kirihara looked at the chocolate suspiciously, like it was going to bite him. "Why?"

"Because I am the coolest sempai on the team, that's why!" Marui draped his arm over Kirihara's shoulders, ignoring the way Akaya tensed for a split second. "If you hit me, I'm taking it back, baby boy."

"But--"

"I figured you could use some cheering up after that English test." Marui blew a large bubble and popped it right next to Kirihara's face. "I remember taking it last year. I think Minamino-sensei is secretly a sadist or something."

Kirihara shrugged off Marui's arm and unwrapped the chocolate, biting off a big hunk. "I like milk chocolate, Marui-sempai." He suddenly grinned impishly. "For next time."

"Cocky brat! You think I'm gonna do this all the time?" Marui huffed, but Kirihara could see the amused gleam in his eye. "You got a lot of nerve."

Kirihara munched contentedly on his chocolate. He just _knew_ there would be a next time.

Word Count: 337 / 4783

**022.** Enemies

People fell into certain categories with him. Friends, teammates (which, essentially, also made up the 'friends' category), authority figures (teachers, his parents, Yukimura-buchou and Sanada-fukoubuchou), useful trash (non-Rikkai tennis players), useless trash (the majority of the general population), enemies (the few worthy opponents) and rabble (whoever was left over). Generally, once he'd defined a person as belonging to a specific category, he rarely gave them enough thought to change them later.

Niou-sempai was his friend and teammate. But at the moment, he was 'enemy', and would be until Kirihara got him back for rigging the hot water taps in the shower to 'cold'.

Word Count: 108 / 4891

**023.** Lovers

"Thirty laps!"

Kirihara rolled his eyes as he picked up the pace. Beside him, Marui was complaining that his new strawberry bubblegum wasn't enough to keep him going for that amount of laps, not after the practice they'd just had.

"I know fukou-buchou's in a bad mood, but why's he gotta take it out on us?" Kirihara asked petulantly.

Yanagi looked at him patiently as they rounded the corner. "He's just working out some things in his mind. He's under a lot of stress, Akaya, and some things are easier to handle than others."

"Yeah, but it still ain't fair."

"Fukou-buchou'd be in a lot better mood if he pulled that stick out of his ass and confessed," Niou grumbled.

Kirihara blinked. "Confess what?"

"That he's got a huge-ass cru--" Niou's words were cut off by a light tug to his ponytail.

Beside him, Yagyuu shook his head. "Do you _want_ to make him even angrier?"

Niou paled very, very slightly. "And a-running we go!"

Kirihara rolled his eyes. His sempai were _wierd_.

Word Count: 177 / 5067

**024.** Family

Yukimura's mother was a gentle, beautiful woman with a soft voice. It was her that Seiichi mostly took after, though it could be said that his iron will and determination came directly from his father. They visited him daily, regardless of their schedules, bringing him little treats and talking about everything from the weather to his teammates.

His mother adored all of his friends, but seemed to have a soft spot for Yukimura's favorite kohai. If his team happened to visit while his parents were there, inevitably, at some point his mother would smile at Akaya and ask him how his tennis game was coming along, or what level he'd reached on his GameBoy. The first time she'd done that, Akaya had stared at her like she was a form of life he'd never seen before, and didn't reply.

Now, his eyes brightened and he'd start babbling about his latest wins, or the newest high score he'd gotten. His mother would smile and laugh, and never once mention a word about the way he sometimes flinched if someone raised their voices in the hall. She never commented on his claim a tennis ball struck him on the arm, even though the bruises were distinctly long and slender, wrapping around his forearm.

He'd asked her once, why some parents were like that. 'I don't know, Seiichi', she said sadly. 'I think really, only they know for sure. But it's never a good enough reason.'

He agreed. Watching his mother interact with the youngest member of his team, Yukimura's eyes hardened, and he wished, not for the first time, that all of life's problems could be solved on a tennis court.

Word Count: 279 / 5346

**025. **Strangers

Kirihara was afraid of very few things in life. One thing he didn't particularly enjoy, was getting lost. He wasn't _afraid_, but knowing where he was at all times was comforting. Which was why his unfortunate habit of training to the point where his exhaustion made him fall asleep on the bus ride home, had led to Sanada appointing Jackal as his 'bus-buddy', as Marui put it.

Unfortunately, the day he wound up at Seigaku by accident was a day when Jackal had been home sick. Akaya had insisted that he would be fine for one day. Then he'd woken up at the last stop in a completely different district.

Everything was different. He didn't know any of the people walking by, or recognize any street names. None of the buildings looked the same.

Almost nobody – save for probably Yanagi-sempai, because Yanagi-sempai was freaky that way – knew how close Akaya could have come to complete and total panic. Finding Seigaku's school and seeing the familiar layout of a tennis court had instantly calmed him down, and brought back a measure of his cockiness.

Still, Kirihara thought as he quickly sneaked off the grounds, he hadn't actually meant to cause that human domino reaction. Funny, yes. Intentional? No.

The next time Jackal was home sick, he wasn't surprised that Marui was sitting next to him when the bus pulled away. Tezuka was a _rat._

Word Count: 236 / 5581

**026. **Teammates

Ever since Yagyuu had made a point of including extra treats in his bento for Kirihara, lunchtime had rapidly become his most favorite time of the day, right after practice. He dashed out of the school building from the back entrance – today's last class was mathematics, which put him on the opposite end of the campus and if he didn't hurry, Niou-sempai would eat _his_ portion of chocolate pudding.

A familiar voice suddenly caught his attention – _speak of the devil_. Kirihara paused and tilted his head. Yes, that was _definitely_ Niou-sempai snarling and threatening. Kirihara retraced his steps and peered around the corner of the school.

His eyes widened with surprise. Niou-sempai was being held by two abnormally large third years from the wrestling team (and Akaya had thought the tennis teams yellow jerseys were eyesores? _Feh_.) and being slapped by a third. Niou was trying to twist his way out of the twin gorillas grip, and swore loudly when the other wrestler smacked him on the side of his face. Niou's eyes were spitting fire, completely (temporarily) dominated, but also completely unintimidated. Kirihara felt his respect for Niou-sempai rising, just a bit.

His own eyes narrowed and he slipped his bag off his shoulder, pulling out his racquet. He and Niou had a habit of fighting like cats and dogs, and first chance he got, he was still going to rat out the real reason he missed practice the other morning (to pull a prank, which probably had a great deal to do with why the wrestling team was targeting him now) to Sanada, but the fact remained that Niou-sempai was his teammate. That meant only he, Kirihara Akaya, was allowed to crush him.

He stepped out from behind the building and shouted. "Hey! Uglies!"

The boy hitting Niou looked up just in time to get a smash serve in the face, knocking him down and out. The two baboons holding Niou's arms were momentarily stunned, giving Kirihara enough time to send another smash serve into Baboon number 1's elbow joint. The boy howled in agony and let go of Niou, who immediately whirled around and slammed his free hand into Baboon number 2's jaw.

Then Niou was sprinting over, grabbing Kirihara by the wrist and dragging him off, barely giving him time to grab his tennis bag.

"Niou-sempai, that hurts!" Kirihara complained as he was pulled along. "Let go!"

"Do you really want to be there when those two idiots call for reinforcements?" Niou asked him, looking exasperated. He let go of Akaya's wrist though.

Kirihara stuck out his tongue and followed Niou to the front part of the school. Yagyuu-sempai would be there, evening the odds, and they were in direct view of the office windows in case the morons came looking for a fight.

"Hey, brat." Akaya looked up as Niou slowed to a stop. The Trickster didn't turn around, but Kirihara could hear him clearly. "...Thanks."

Kirihara shrugged it off. "I wasn't gonna let them crush you, Niou-sempai." He grinned. "That's my job."

"You wish." Niou rolled his eyes and started walking. Kirihara moved up alongside him and only protested a little bit when Niou ruffled his hair.

Word Count: 541 / 6112

**027.** Parents

Yanagi watched Sanada bellow out instructions at Akaya who nodded and changed his stance. It was very tiny, and would have been completely unnoticeable had Yanagi not been a close friend of Sanada's for many years, but Sanada's face held the faintest amount of pride as Kirihara made a perfect return to one of Yagyuu's lighter Laser Beams. Sanada nodded in satisfaction and Kirihara's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He waved his racquet eagerly at Yagyuu, yelling at him to hit a harder Laser Beam this time, because he was _definitely_ going to break it.

Sanada ruled over Rikkai's tennis club like a a strict and demanding patriarch, and it was even more evident with some members more than others. Certainly Kirihara viewed his captain and vice-captain as natural authority figures, and Sanada had a habit of treating Kirihara like a child in need of discipline and structure. In this particular case, it was like watching a child show off for a (reluctantly) proud father, and, Yanagi reflected ruefully, it was probably the closest Kirihara had come to parental affection in _years_.

A small smile suddenly graced his own features. When the - ahem - _mother_ figure of Rikkaidai returned, undoubtedly Akaya would perform even better in front of his pseudo parental units. For obvious reasons, however, he thought it might be best not to discuss this particular line of thought with Sanada, lest he wind up joining Yukimura as a roommate.

Word Count: 243 / 6355

**028.** Children

Jackal knew he was being punished for something. He just wasn't sure what.

It had all started when Niou made an off-hand comment about how Marui was going to weigh about three hundred pounds by the time he hit high-school if he kept eating all those cakes. Marui had screeched at him, even while pouting and looking like he was about to cry. The noise had drawn Kirihara's attention who, upon hearing what Niou had said to his favorite sempai, promptly tried to decapitate Niou with his racquet. Niou, trying to avoid his teammates wild swings, stepped backwards onto Yagyuu's foot, making the Gentleman react by saying several words that were not very gentlemanly in nature. A passing teacher had overheard and subsequently reprimanded Sanada for not instilling the manners and proper decorum that should be practiced by all Rikkai students. Sanada, having had his honor besmirched, turned nearly purple with rage and ordered - through clenched teeth in danger of cracking – for them to sit on the bench and _NOT MOVE_ while he dragged Yanagi off to draw up plans for a suitable torture—er, workout session that afternoon.

As the only one technically not in trouble, Jackal had been appointed as the babysitter to make sure no one moved. Frankly, as far as he was concerned, it was still punishment.

"Jackal-sempai, Niou's making faces at me!"

"Was not! And that's Niou-_sempai_ to you, runt!"

"Was too! And you're not worthy of being a sempai!"

"I'm hungry. Jackal, can you hand me my bag? I think I still have a chocolate bar left..."

"See? Scratch that, it's gonna be _five_ hundred pounds. They'll have to roll you onto the tennis court."

"Masaharou, must you really continue to tease him like this? If Kirihara kills you before the Kantou tournament, Sanada-fukou-buchou will be most upset – as will I, if I must find another doubles partner."

"I only speak the truth."

"YOU! CRUSHED! NOW!"

Jackal lunged at the hissing, spitting wildcat that was Kirihara, and wondered again why he'd ever left Brazil.

Word Count: 345 / 6699

**029. **Birth

Marui had a favorite cake shop he frequented every Sunday afternoon. Kirihara liked to tag along because he usually got a free snack if he did.

Marui plastered himself against the glass window. "_Ooh la la_... so many kinds and so little time!" He straightened up, rubbing his hands together. "Hey, old man! I'd like a raspberry tart, a slice of the coconut cream, two of the chocolate brownies, and a piece of the New York-style cheesecake with strawberry sauce!"

Kirihara rolled his eyes. This was nothing. He'd seen Marui order even more then that before. He grinned though, as Marui handed him a brownie, and asked for two forks for the cheesecake. That was _his_ favorite, but Kirihara could never finish the whole thing by himself.

"It's a nice day, kiddo. Let's sit outside!"

Outside, the sun was shining brightly. Kirihara and Marui sat themselves at one of the tables and dug into the food. Halfway through his brownie though, Marui cocked his head to one side. "Eh... did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Marui stood up. "Watch the food," he said, and disappeared around the side of the shop. Kirihara blinked, shrugged and finished off his brownie. After a second, he reached over and used his fork to cut off a piece of Marui's tart.

"Hey, Aka-chan! C'mere!"

Kirihara scowled at the use of the nickname he despised the most. "What, sempai?" Then he paused.

Marui was crouched down, leaning over a box in the dirty alley. "Look!"

Akaya looked. Inside the box were four tiny kittens. Two were black, and two were gray with black stripes. "What are they doing here?"

"Someone must have thrown them away," Marui said softly, reaching down with one finger to rub against the tiny ears. "They're so cute."

Kirihara swallowed hard, and tentatively petted one of the gray ones. The resulting purr made him smile. Then he frowned again. "People suck."

"This one time, I'd have to agree with you." Marui straightened up and looked around. "Well, it can't be helped."

"Are we... we can't just leave them here," Kirihara said awkwardly.

Marui grinned at him. "Neh, you're a softie for kitties, Aka-chan? Who would've guessed?"

Kirihara glared at him, flushing red. "I am _not_. But this..." he swallowed again. "They'll die."

"Probably."

It wasn't his problem. Kirihara slowly stood up, trying to ignore the strange feeling in his chest. "...so we're going then?"

Marui watched him, sighed, and then clucked his tongue. "Like I said," he repeated. "...can't be helped." He leaned down and picked up the box.

"M-Marui-sempai?"

"Relax, kiddo. I'll take 'em home and give them to my cousin. She's a foster parent for the animal shelter in our neighborhood – she's always on the lookout for cases like these."

Kirihara was surprised. "Really?"

"Yup." Marui winked. "'Sides, I can't have my cute little kouhai crying over baby kitties, now can I?"

Kirihara snarled, but didn't say anything as he followed his sempai out of the alley. It wouldn't do to hit him while he was carrying the kittens. He might drop them. He'd wait until practice tomorrow and smack him then.

Word Count: 528 / 7188

**030.** Death

Kirihara hated having nightmares. His nightmares ranged from typical ones with his parents in the starring role, to the weird, like dreaming he was tied to the bench while some looser from the Rikkai non-Regulars took his spot as Singles 2, all as some part of weird punishment handed down by Fukou-buchou. Waking up from a nightmare always threw him off for a bit before he completely woke up; he was thankful they didn't happen very often.

And then one day he had one while he dozed off on the team bus, coming home from a tournament. He didn't know why – he hadn't had a particularly stressful couple of days, and his opponent at the exhibition match had been pathetically weak. There was no real reason for it.

That didn't make one wit of difference to his subconscious, however. Kirihara came awake on the bus with a blood-curdling scream and bolted upright in his seat, gasping for breath. Someone was shaking his shoulder, and there were voices all around him saying his name. Akaya clapped his hands over his ears to drown them out.

Dimly he heard a sharp voice crack like a whip across the bus, and the hands and voices disappeared. After a minute, the fuzziness left his head, and he opened his eyes blearily, lowering his hands. Yanagi was calmly sitting next to him, watching him carefully.

"Are you alright?"

Kirihara blinked, and then nodded slowly.

"Do you have nightmares often?"

Scowling, his face flaming red, Akaya slouched down in his seat. The way it sounded... it made him look weak. "No," he said bluntly, staring a hole through the seat in front of him.

Yanagi nodded thoughtfully. "I assume you have no intention of telling me what it was about. That's fine. But if you should change your mind, you know I, or anyone else on the team would listen."

Niou would probably laugh at him. Akaya scowled even harder. "I'm fine."

"Of course." Yanagi patted his shoulder lightly. "But do think about it. Sometimes it makes it easier to deal with." He hesitated for a minute. "You know, everyone has had nightmares at some point. I know I did, when Yukimura fell ill on the courts. I'd wager a good 77 of the Rikkai tennis club had some sort of psychological feedback from that."

"What's your point?"

"My point is I want to help, if I can. Sometimes..." Yanagi hesitated, as though he were trying to think of the best way to say something, which was weird. Yanagi-sempai always knew what to say. "...sometimes there are circumstances beyond our control that shape our dreams. Letting them stay bottled up can ki-- destroy you from the inside."

Kirihara shook his head stubbornly, refusing to look at him. "_I'm fine_."

Yanagi let the subject drop, finally. Kirihara stared out the window for the rest of the ride home.

Word Count: 485 / 7712

-------------------------------------

**End Notes:**

Anyone who reads my LJ knows I'm a volunteer with the SCAA here in China, and drabble number 29 actually happened to me last year. Except in my case it was 6 babies, with one who died despite the round-the-clock care I gave him. The others all survived and as of September 2007, all 5 have been successfully adopted out. That particular drabble is dedicated to the baby who didn't make it. My little Eiji.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Kirihara Akaya

**Author: **Stormy1x2 ( travelingstorm )

**Challenge:** LJ's fanfic100

**Prompts: **31 to 40

**Pairings: **Very, very mild Sana x Yuki, or Platinum Pair. Maybe a _hint_ of Marui x Kirihara but it's miniscule.

**Warnings:** mild language, mature themes

**Notes: **The use of several Japanese phrases thus far has been intentional, as English does not have either an appropriate or proper-sounding equivalent. For example, in Canada, teammates do not run around calling each other 'upper classman' or 'underclassman', and I speak from experience as the co-captain of my high-school basketball team that my teammates did not call me by that title. We use names. In Japan, I realize that it's not proper to use given names, and as I refuse to write 'upper/under classman' etc, I have kept the Japanese terms ('sempai/kouhai). Ditto for Buchou and Fukou-buchou. Also, I prefer the term tensai – in this case, I'm referring specifically to tennis genius. It also sounds better. Same for other titles, i.e, san ('cause if I were to write a fic with Ohtori, him saying 'Mr Shishido' all the time would be _wrong_). Other than that, you will not see any other fan-girl Japanese in my work. I promise.

--------------------------------

**031.** Sunrise

Kirihara-san returned home from a business flight that must have landed at Narita around three in the morning. Akaya was acutely aware of the time when his dad stumbled in the house; his mother met him with shouts and accusations that he was late by two days, that his company either didn't know or wouldn't tell her where he'd been, and that she was demanding to know_who_ he'd been with.

After about an hour of listening to them shout back and forth, Kirihara gave up on sleep and got up. Silently he moved through his room gathering his books, homework and tennis gear. He had an extra pair of sneakers in his room, and he forewent getting his jacket from the hallway in favor of wearing his Rikkai jersey. He had morning practice in a few hours anyway.

Opening the window, Kirihara slipped outside and scaled down the side of his house using the trellis on the side. Scowling blackly at the lights on in the living room, he turned and headed for school. The buses weren't running that early, but he could use a workout anyway. By the time he got to the Rikkai school grounds, the sun was already peaking over the horizon. The clubhouse was still locked of course, but he figured someone would arrive soon. Stretching out on the bench, he tucked his bag under his head and dozed off.

Word Count: 236 / 7948

**032. **Sunset

It was getting dark by the time afternoon practice came to a end. The Kantou tournament was right around the corner, and while they were sure to defeat Seigaku, Sanada had apparently decided that they might pose a threat anyway, and had subsequently lengthened all of their practices accordingly.

Akaya changed into his street clothes, tucking his school uniform and his jersey into his bag. He left his weights on though, and double-checked to make sure he had a few extra tennis balls. If he was lucky, maybe there'd be people at the street courts. If there weren't, well, a wall would have to do.

"Akaya?"

Kirihara glanced at Yanagi. "'S'up, sempai?"

"I surmise there is an eighty-two percent chance that you are going to the street courts to continue practicing. I recommend that you do not. There is a thirty-one percent chance of you straining or otherwise injuring yourself from overwork, and the tournament is in three days."

Kirihara snorted. "I ain't gonna hurt myself, sempai. I promise." He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Akaya!" Yanagi frowned. "Are you that worried about Seigaku's Fuji Syuuske?"

Kirihara whirled around, glaring. "I am _not_ afraid of Seigaku's so-called _tensai_!" His fists clenched by his side. "I'm gonna mop the court with that guy. You watch and see!"

"Then why do you feel the need for extra practice?" Yanagi remained calm, his head tilted very slightly.

Kirihara averted his eyes and scowled at the ground. Almost absently, he rubbed his arm. "I just feel like it."

Yanagi was quiet for a minute, staring at him. It made Akaya nervous. He was about to go anyway, when Yanagi suddenly stood up. "Very well. You'll come with me."

"...huh?"

"You need help with your English, do you not? I have some free time this evening, and you might as well stay for dinner so we can get right to it. You can call your mother from my house and let her know."

Kirihara swallowed. "Sempai..."

"Though I've seen your marks," Yanagi continued. "If you are going to receive a passing grade on your next test, we have a great deal of work to do. It might be worthwhile for you to stay over in our guest room so that you don't have to waste time going home."

Kirihara knew that his teammates were vaguely aware of his home situation. Though he never said a word to anyone about it, some things were hard to hide, and his teammates were anything but stupid. But this was almost too much. "That's not neces--"

"It's a good idea," Sanada said, striding into the clubhouse. "If your marks slip any lower, they'll put you on academic probation. I don't think I have to tell you how angry I will be, or how disappointed Yukimura will be if you are removed from Singles 2 due to your grades."

Akaya glowered. "They aren't that bad."

Yanagi flipped open his notebook. "Would you like me to recite the marks of your last three tests?"

"Hey!"

"Go," Sanada ordered. "And do not practice anymore tonight. If you pull a muscle before the tournament, I will personally ensure you do not stop running laps until you graduate _high school_."

"...Yes, fukou-buchou." Kirihara turned to Yanagi and raised his eyebrow. "Guess you got your way. We going or what?"

Yanagi smiled.

Word Count: 567 / 8515

**033.** Too Much

Seigaku was just so _easy_ to rile. Kirihara made a poor attempt to muffle his giggles, even as Jackal propelled him down the hallway of the hospital. At the elevator, Jackal let go of his collar and pushed the button.

"One day you're gonna go too far," Jackal sighed. "There was no need for you to taunt them like that. Other then the fact that it's bad sportsmanship, you were also outnumbered."

"You wouldn't have let them hurt me," Kirihara said confidently. "And I knew Fuji would keep that dumb ape from touching me. If Seigaku's monkey boy hurt me before the tournament, it would look like they were too afraid to face me officially."

Jackal rolled his eyes and pushed him onto the elevator, hitting the button for Yukimura's floor. "You still shouldn't have done that."

"You're a nice guy, Jackal-sempai," Kirihara told him genuinely. "I'm not. See the difference?" He shrugged. "Besides, what did I do? I didn't touch any of them, and well, if they're so sensitive..." he tisked. "I'd hate to hurt my opponents feelings before the game, you know."

"I'm sure." Jackal led the way to Yukimura's room when the doors opened. He paused a few feet away, looking at Akaya with a resigned smile. "And because I'm so nice, I won't tell Sanada what you did."

Kirihara grinned, and pounced on the Brazillian. "Thanks Jackal-sempai!" He rubbed Jackal's bald head and then jumped down, sprinting for Yukimura's room. "Buchou! I'm here! Are you glad to see me?"

Jackal gave an exasperated chuckle before following his younger teammate in.

Word Count: 266 / 8781

**034.** Not Enough

He had failed.

Kirihara was still on his hands and knees. He couldn't get up, no matter how much he told himself to. His limbs weren't listening to him.

_Get up_, he told himself frantically. _Get up!_

He could hear the crowd cheering, could hear the shrieks of joy coming from the Seigaku team as they celebrated Fuji's win, but he couldn't hear anything from his team.

_Tennis must not be used to breed hatred._

Kirihara squeezed his eyes shut as Fuji's voice echoed mockingly inside his head. Fuji's voice... and _his_ face. Suddenly he could see himself behind closed lids, pointing his racquet and laughing mercilessly. He snapped his eyes open instead. He'd rather face the disappointment of his teammates than see that mocking visage anymore than he already had.

He'd lost. He'd not only lost, he'd been _beaten_. Beaten as he had beaten so many others, in spirit if not in body – though the throbbing in his leg was telling him otherwise. He was so confused. He'd been facing Fuji... who had turned into him, using his methods against him... and then had turned back into Fuji... and he had _lost_...

What would Fukou-buchou say? What would Yukimura-buchou say? Fear raced through him, mixing with anger and helplessness and _damn it_, he needed to get up but he couldn't get his body to listen to him.

"Akaya, you're hyperventilating. Calm down."

Yanagi. Yanagi was there. Kirihara turned his head and saw his sempai's concerned face looking at him.

"Come on, kiddo. Get up."

Marui on his other side. Kirihara sucked in deep gulps of air and let his sempai help him up, though he automatically shrugged their hands off as he made his way to the bench. His leg hurt a bit, but he didn't limp.

His feet slowly led him to the bench where he sat down hard, his legs giving out again at the last second. He tried to turn his head to look over at Sanada, but it weighed a thousand pounds. He didn't want to look, didn't want to see the anger he knew had to be there. He'd lost, he'd failed them...

"Akaya."

He flinched. He couldn't help it. Dimly, he was aware that he was shaking. He'd failed, and now they were going to miss Buchou's operation, and everyone was going to be so _mad_--

A hand fell on his shoulder. He gasped and snapped his head up.

"Have you seen your limits?"

_Limits?_

"Limits are there to be overcome."

_Overcome._.. Kirihara breathed in and out. Had he seen his limit? What had he seen? He cringed as he remembered. That... that was how his opponents had felt. That was where they had stopped, where they had fallen back in fear of the boy with the red eyes. That was where he was now. But...

...he was better then that. Right? Was Sanada saying he could overcome... He blinked.

Sanada's hand left his shoulder and silently, Akaya mourned the loss. It had been a rare comforting gesture on the part of Fukou-buchou. Still a bit dazed, he watched as Sanada discussed something with Yanagi, and then strode off towards the Seigaku bench. Where...?

"Hey, Aka-chan," Marui said, crouching in front of him. "We're going to head to the hospital. Sanada's gone to tell Seigaku what's going on."

He had lost... which meant Sanada had to play that mini-brat Echizen Ryoma in the final game. Because of him, Fukou-Buchou wasn't going to be there for... for.. Akaya squeezed his hands into fists, ignoring the way his nails dug into his palms.

"Hey, hey, none of that." Marui tapped him on the head. "It's alright. Fukou-buchou's gonna win his match quick and easy, right? He'll just be a little late." He dragged Kirihara up and draped his jersey over him. Jackal brought over his track pants. "Come on, zip up. Your muscles are gonna cool off too quickly."

Kirihara obeyed. They were right. Sanada-fukou-buchou would win and everything would be okay. He would be okay, Buchou would be okay, everything would be okay. He grabbed his bag and looked up. The others were waiting for him. A very small smile curved his lips and he quickly joined them.

A shout caught their attention. Kirihara watched as Jackal caught Sanada's jersey. Even though he wouldn't be there in person, he'd be there in spirit. Of course. He should have known.

Kirihara breathed a little easier.

Word Count: 749 / 9530

**035. **Sixth Sense

The odds were very good that Yukimura's operation would be both successful and uneventful. Yanagi had done his research of course; this hospital was the best in Tokyo, and Yukimura's doctors and the specialist doing the surgery were at the top of their field. There was always a risk, but Yanagi had faith in his data, and his data was telling him that somehow, someway, everything would turn out in the end.

As for the rest... Yanagi glanced over at Kirihara who was drumming his fingers restlessly on the tennis magazine Marui had given him in an attempt to keep him occupied. Apparently it wasn't working. Yanagi had a good idea of what thoughts were running through the mind of his youngest teammate, and he made a mental note to speak to Kirihara later. Turning his head the other way, he looked at Jackal, sitting on the floor, listening to Sanada's match on the radio.

That Sanada was still playing did not bode well. Yanagi had expected Sanada to finish his match quite some time ago – clearly, his data was lacking in some respects. But honestly, after Sanada had discussed with him at length his easy victory over Echizen the week before, he had not expected such a rapid turnaround in so little time. He glanced back down at his notebook with a faint frown. He would definitely have to rectify that error before the Nationals.

Then he heard a click as Jackal turned the radio off. It echoed in the hospital corridor, and he looked at Jackal sharply. Suddenly he knew. Even before he could ask, Yanagi felt the wave of dread sweep over him, and he knew that Sanada, that Rikkai, had lost.

Word Count: 285 / 9815

**036.** Smell

Sanada hated the smell of the hospital. Like bleach and disinfectants, medicine and sickness. Still, as always, he never once hesitated as he walked through the door.

He had lost. Sanada had no excuse for doing so. He had played the best he could, under stressful circumstances, and it just happened that Echizen played better. It had been a good game, and he had no true regrets.

_Mostly no regrets_, he amended as he walked around the corner and came face to face with his team.

"Fukou-buchou!"

The cry went up and Sanada raised his hand, calling for silence. "How's Yukimura?" he asked Yanagi calmly. Yanagi indicated to the light still on over the operating wing sign.

"We're not sure yet," Yanagi replied. "His parents are in the operating amphitheater. They promised to inform us as soon as they know anything."

Sanada nodded, and looked over his entire team. Marui and Jackal were looking back at him, a little apprehensively. He could understand why – he would have to go over his match with them, explain what happened. Niou and Yagyuu sat side by side. Niou's legs were outstretched in such a manner that anyone not looking where they were walking would be sure to trip over them. He raised an eyebrow, and Niou chuckled, sliding his feet back. Yagyuu had a textbook in his lap and seemed to be doing homework. And Kirihara...

...was staring at him. If Sanada didn't know better, he would have thought his singles 2 player was about to cry.

"Akaya?"

"I'm sorry!" Akaya burst out suddenly. "Fukou-buchou, I'm sorry I lost. I really am." He lowered his head.

Sanada looked at him for a minute, and nodded. "I know you are, Akaya. And I am too."

Kirihara's head jerked up. "Fukou-buchou..."

"I lost as well, Akaya. But, I have seen my limit." Sanada gave him a serious look and Akaya remembered what he'd said to him on the court.

Akaya nodded slowly as he realized what Sanada was asking. "Me too, Sanada fukou-buchou."

"Good."

The end doors opened and Yukimura's mother came out. She had a smile on her face, and Sanada suddenly knew everything would be all right.

Word Count: 367 / 10181

**037.** Sound

Yagyuu adjusted his glasses and made sure he stayed close to the wall next Yukimura-Buchou's bed. It was the best way to ensure that he kept out of range. It had been two days since Yukimura's operation, and the team had finally been allowed to visit properly. Yukimura already looked much better then he had in the days before his surgery. He was still too thin and pale but Yanagi had assured them all that a few days back on the court building up muscle and taking in the sun would help a lot.

Until then, the team seem determined to make sure their Buchou felt better by creating pure havoc in his hospital room. How this would help was beyond Yagyuu, but at least it made Yukimura laugh, particularly when Niou scooped up Kirihara, threw him over his shoulder, and headed out the door, commenting that Kirihara should not have gotten to his age without experiencing the joy that was a swirlie. Jackal was trying to talk him out of it, Marui was cheering him on, Kirihara was screaming death threats, and Yanagi was scribbling in his notebook, muttering about how the apparent ease in which Niou had picked up Kirihara was an indicator of increased upper body strength. Sanada seemed to be about two minutes away from exploding and/or kicking them all out for making too much noise, and Yagyuu had a feeling that any minute now, a nurse was going to come and do the latter.

Still, he thought as he watched their Buchou giggle, his eyes sparkling, he was sure everyone would agree that it was worth it.

Word Count: 274 / 10455

**038.** Touch

It might shock some people to know, but Kirihara did have a functioning brain. Even more shocking, was that he did know how to use it at times. Particularly when it involved tennis.

He'd had a lot of time to think, in the days since his defeat at the hands of Fuji Syuuske. He'd also had a lot of nightmares; some so bad that he woke up screaming and couldn't go back to sleep at all. His mother hadn't been too thrilled with that, but thankfully his father was gone on another trip. Waking _him_ up in the middle of the night would have been much worse.

Kirihara knew his recent nightmares had a lot to do with his last match. He'd been given a taste of his own medicine – he'd seen, for the first time, what he truly was. And he'd been surprised to find, when all was said and done...that he didn't really like how it felt.

He needed to find a new way to overcome his limits. Limits that had been set by his destructive play. If he wanted to overcome them, if he truly wanted to be the best, he'd have to change. Change and adapt, like all great players did.

The Senbatsu Camp was coming up. He was going to be a part of it, but at the moment, he doubted any of the coaches, particularly ones that knew him, would let him join a team for a goodwill tournament when they all had an impression of him in their minds that didn't really reflect the attitude of the games.

Kirihara clenched his fists. He _would_ be a part of that team. He would show them all that he was worthy of it. He would redeem himself, for his loss at the Nationals. But to do that...

----

Niou was slumped on the bench in the clubhouse, yawning irritably. Practice had gone later than usual – a direct result, he knew, of their second-place finish at the Nationals. He stretched one last time, listening to his back crack and pop, and then blinked his eyes open as someone touched him on the shoulder.

"... Niou-sempai?"

Kirihara was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. It looked like determination, or resolution, mixed with... something. Niou cocked his head to the side, interested. "What's up, brat?"

"...I need your help." Kirihara met his eyes evenly. "Please."

Oh yes, Niou was definitely interested. He liked the team baby about as much as anyone else on the team, but that didn't mean they were in the habit of asking each other for favors. The potential for blackmail was too high. "Help with what?"

"I'm working on something," Kirihara admitted slowly. "A new serve. I have a... theory, or something, but I need to practice it. Will you help me?

Niou watched the kid silently. Something was different. The cockiness was...not gone, really, but was tempered with a calmness that Akaya rarely showed. And that look of determination was still there. Besides, he still owed the kid for helping him out against the wrestling team.

He nodded. "Sure, brat. Today is pretty much shot for me, but I'm free tomorrow. And this weekend. Will that help?"

"Yeah." Kirihara nodded, a small smile on his face. "It will. Thank you, Niou-sempai."

He waved it off, and Akaya headed over to his locker to get changed. Niou eyed him for a minute longer, and smirked. Looked like it was going to be an interesting couple of days.

Word Count: 593 / 11048

**039. **Taste

"Stop that!"

Niou blinked and looked back at Akaya. "Stop what?"

Kirihara was scowling at him. "You! Staring at Yagyuu-sempai! You're supposed to be helping me! What's he doing here anyway?"

"He's waiting for me," Niou replied. "He's coming to my place to do... homework." He waggled his eyebrows.

"I'll bet," Akaya muttered, and stomped back to the line. "Incoming!"

Niou watched Akaya's serve carefully. He could kinda see what he was trying to do, but whatever the end result was supposed to be, it wasn't quite there yet. He returned it lightly.

"Damn it!"

Niou watched Kirihara pick at his racquet strings and mutter to himself. Since the kid was preoccupied... he glanced back over at Yagyuu with a sly grin.

"Niou-sempai!"

"Would you give it a rest?" He growled. "Fuck, what's your problem?"

"You're my problem!" Kirihara waved his racquet threateningly. "Stop staring at Yagyuu-sempai like you wanna eat him or something, and help me figure this out!"

Niou rolled his eyes but obediently stepped back onto the line. He figured another day or two of this and he'd have paid the kid back for the whole wrestler thing. Then this would turn into a favor for _him_, and he'd be able to have more fun. He nodded cheerily.

"Let's do it."

Word Count: 217 / 11265

**040. **Sight

Niou yawned. It was getting late, and the setting sun was casting long shadows over everything. Soon, the court lights would kick on. Glancing at his watch, he whistled at the time.

"Hey brat, think we can wrap this up for tonight?" He looked over to where Akaya was bent over, gasping for breath. The kid was working himself nearly to death over this new serve, and it was coming along nicely. He hadn't perfected it yet, but Niou had no doubt he would. And when he did... Niou whistled again, this time in a rare admission of admiration. It would be a hell of a shot, if he could manage to hit it properly.

"One more time," Kirihara panted. "Let me try it again."

Niou shrugged, and took up his stance at the baseline. "Go for it."

Kirihara paused, staring down at the ball in his hand. Niou couldn't see his face, but he figured the kid had to be focusing all his attention, all his determination. He was so desperate to make this shot his own, to perfect it, and he'd been working damn hard for it. Tell the truth, if he didn't do it soon, Niou was gonna be disappointed on his behalf.

Suddenly his eyes narrowed. Something was different. A tiny difference, sure, unnoticeable by probably anyone else, but Niou was trained in picking out minute habits in others, and something was different in Kirihara's stance, the angle he held his wrist.

Then the shot came at him. Niou swung – and hit dead air. The ball seemingly materialized on the other side of him; Niou angled his head to look around, staring confoundedly at the the tennis ball rolling along the ground. _What the_...

"I did it," Kirihara breathed.

Niou grinned.

Word Count: 295 / 11560

**End notes:** For these particular drabbles, I took a few liberties. Example:

in drabble 31, I do not know what the Kirihara residence looks like, but from what we've seen of other characters (Momo, Eiji, Fuji, Ryoma etc) they all have single homes with two or more floors. I've given Kirihara essentially the same thing.

In drabble 36, I made mention of an operating amphitheater. I know they have these in teaching hospitals in Canada and America. I do not know if they have them in Tokyo. For the purposes of this fic, they do. And no, I don't care if they really don't.

I tried to keep to the anime dialogue as best I could but I was working from memory. If it's not completely accurate, that's where the AU part comes in. :)

In drabble 38, I mention that Akaya came face to face with how he really was on the court. Someone told me that in the manga, he was aware of how he was, enjoyed himself as he was, and that others encourage him. Well, not here. Besides, if he truly did enjoy what he did, then what Fuji did wouldn't have given him those demon-head hallucinations, and tormented him about being a monster. My interpretation, my fic.

Lastly, a _swirlie_ (drabble 37) is something a bullying student will do to a younger one. They stick them headfirst in the toilet and flush it, making the water swirl. Hence, a 'swirlie'.

For those of you reading and commenting, thank you so much. :) For those of you reading and not commenting, I hope you're enjoying this series. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Kirihara Akaya

**Author: **Stormy1x2 ( travelingstorm )

**Challenge:** LJ's fanfic100

**Prompts: **41 to 50

**Pairings: **Very, very mild Sana x Yuki, or Platinum Pair. Mild hint of Sengoku Akaya

**Warnings:** Language, mature themes

**Notes: **Again, did these prompts a little differently. Is deliberately vague re: Senbatsu Camp dialog because I can't find a transcript online and my laptop ate my cd's. Don't like it, tough – there's the back button. Change the timeline of the camp slightly as you'll see – I claim AU status.

--------------------------------

**041. **Shapes

Akaya drummed his fingers on the desk irritably. He hated math almost as much as he hated English, but if he didn't get his homework done, it would go on his record. That would affect his status on the tennis team, and _that_ could possibly keep him from going to the Senbatsu Camp. Which meant, he sighed internally, that he had to finish his homework.

When he was a world famous tennis player, rich from endorsement contracts, he would have accountants to handle stupid math matters. Unfortunately, his teacher didn't quite understand that, and so he was stuck with three pages of equations that were making his head spin. Caught up in calculus, he almost didn't hear the door open behind him.

"Akaya."

He tried not to jump. He really did. Kirihara whirled around, automatically tensing. His mother was in the doorway, holding a piece of paper. His eyes narrowed in on it – it was the letter inviting him to the camp. He froze.

"...Yeah?"

"I saw this downstairs," she said, watching him evenly. "What is it?"

A sarcastic remark was on the tip of his tongue but he knew better then to even _contemplate_ letting it out. "It's an invitation to a tennis camp," he said quietly.

"What tennis camp?"

"The Senbatsu Camp. After a week, they pick the players that will represent Japan in the Japan/America Goodwill Games."

She nodded vaguely. Akaya was apprehensive – his mother didn't just drop by to talk about things like this. She'd been leaving him to his own devices for a few years now, and had never expressed much of an interest in his tennis abilities.

"Are we expected to pay for this camp?"

So that was it. Kirihara gave a silent sigh of relief. "No. I was invited. The camp is paid for by sponsors of the Games."

She nodded again, still staring at him with an expression Kirihara couldn't identify. Then she motioned with the paper. "Are you a good player?"

_If you'd ever come to any one of my games, you'd know_. Akaya shrugged. "They invited me," was all he said. Bragging could be seen as backtalk, and while his parents had trouble finding things to argue over, one thing they agreed on was that backtalk from him gained him a quick smack in the face.

A third nod. After a minute, she dropped the paper on the dresser and walked back out. Kirihara watched her go, confused and relieved at the same time. The whole thing had made him uncomfortable. Dealing with his mother for extended lengths of time was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole – it just didn't work, no matter what you did.

He walked over to the table, picked up the paper, folded it and put it in the photo album he kept under his bed. Then, with a sigh, he went back to his desk.

Those math problems weren't going to finish themselves.

Word Count: 492 / 12052

**042.** Triangle

He should have known better. He'd let the reasonably easy interaction with his mother drop his guard. Sanada-fukou-buchou was always reminding him about that, to always stay on your toes. As usual, he was right.

Slowly, and a little unsteadily, Akaya got to his feet, bracing one hand against the wall for balance. Across the room in front of him, his father breathed heavily, glaring daggers at him. "You watch your mouth."

He'd let his guard down. He'd thought that since his mother hadn't said anything against the camp, it was okay to mention it at dinner to her. His father had ignored him up until he mentioned that two of his teammates were going as well. His father had snorted, asking if girly kid with the faggot hair that had stopped by one day to pick Kirihara up for practice during first year – Yukimura-buchou – was going. Akaya had automatically rose to the defense of his captain, replying with a quick, "He's not girly!"

Kirihara watched his father warily. He'd forgotten how fast the old man's reflexes were. After all, he'd been an athlete in his own right, when he was younger.

To the right of him, standing by the dining room doorway, his mother didn't move. Her lips were pressed together, and her eyes flickered from him to his father and back. The three of them stood in their respective corners, watching, like some strange showdown. Then his mother spoke. "You know better then to talk back, Akaya."

He could still feel the sharp sting of his father's hand on his cheekbone. Yeah, he knew better. Luckily, he didn't bruise easily. After a day or two, any mark would barely be noticeable. "Sorry."

His father snorted again, and then turned around, sitting himself down in front of the television, effectively dismissing them all. Kirihara sent a cautious look to his mother, who raised her chin and sent him a hard look. "Go to your room."

_Gladly_. Kirihara went upstairs. As he passed through his door, he paused, and made a mark on his calender. Another day closer to the camp.

It wasn't much, but a week out of this house was sounding really, really good.

Word Count: 370 / 12422

**043.** Square

According to the notice, the camp would have laundry facilities and a team jersey provided. That made packing so much easier. Akaya threw a small bag of toiletries, socks, underwear, a couple of t-shirts and an extra pair of shorts into a small backpack. Though Niou was not going to be at the camp, a lot of people who weren't exactly fans of his would be, and Kirihara knew the value of having an extra set of clothes to combat pranksters.

His favorite roll of grip tape, an ace bandage (just in case), his extra pair of sneakers with the zig-zagging square treads, his cell phone with adapter, (he didn't care if they weren't supposed to bring them; what if 'Mura-buchou tried to call him? What if Marui found more kittens?), his Game Boy and his wrist weights went in his tennis bag. He was already wearing his ankle weights, so... that was it.

He checked the time – Sanada's father was picking up both him and Yanagi and driving them to school, where Rikkai had provided a van to take them to the Camp, about an hour drive away. A sudden honk outside told him they were already there.

Kirihara carried his things downstairs. His father had left for work earlier, and his mother was still cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Standing in the kitchen door, he cleared his throat. His mother turned her head to look at him.

"I'm, uh, leaving," he said, bowing his head quickly. "I... I'll be back in a week. My sempai's father is giving us a ride home."

She nodded. "The same one who's driving there today?"

"Yeah." He didn't know what else to say. "Um...see you then?"

She nodded again, and Kirihara turned, heading for the door, suddenly eager to get away. His mother had been acting weird for a couple of days now. The fights were occurring a little less frequently, but his mother was acting more distant than usual, which was saying a lot.

"Akaya?"

He paused in the front doorway. "Yeah?"

She was still looking at him strangely. Something twisted inside Akaya's stomach, but he pushed it aside. His mother opened her mouth, and then closed it; then she shook herself a little and spoke. "Good luck."

He blanked. That was the best way he could think of to describe it. "What?"

She was frowning now. "I said, good luck."

"Um, yeah. Thanks." He was sure his eyes were as wide as saucers. "I'll be fine. I'm going to be Singles One." He smiled, hesitantly.

She continued to look at him, uncomprehending what he said, and the initial thrill he'd felt crumbled a bit, reminding him that of course she wouldn't know what Singles One meant.

Clearing his throat, he repeated his goodbyes and headed out the door. And despite himself, a very small smile stayed on his face all the way to Senbatsu.

Word Count: 486 / 12908

**044.** Circle

"You will be polite to the coaches."

"Yes, Fukou-buchou." Hey, he wanted them to pick him.

"You will attempt to be respectful to the older players."

""Yes, Fukou-buchou." ...He said _attempt._ That gave some leeway.

"You will make a sincere effort to get along with your teammates and roommate."

"Yes, Fukou-buchou." Fighting would get him thrown out. Getting thrown out would not get him his Singles One position.

"You will not deface or vandalize any of the property."

"Yes, Fukou-buchou." He'd left his toy box behind, anyway.

"You will not bite any of the volunteers."

"Yes, Fukou-buchou." Apparently he was not going to be allowed to have _any_ fun.

"Are you quite sure you haven't forgotten anything, Sanada?" Yanagi-sempai was smiling, damn his eyes.

In the driver's rear-view mirror, he could see Sanada-san's impassive face – but his eyes looked amused. Akaya scowled and sank further into his seat. _Damn it_.

"Cheer up, Akaya," Yanagi said, and tossed a box at his head. "Here, Yukimura sent this to you as a reward for being selected for the camp."

Kirihara brightened. A present from Buchou? He ripped the box open eagerly. A brand new tennis ball was inside, with something written on it. He pulled it out and studied it.

'_Do your best, Akaya. You can do it. Behave yourself_. '

It was the best present ever. He hugged the ball to his chest, ignoring the indulgent smile of Yanagi-sempai, and the rolling eyes of Fukou-buchou. Even Yukimura-Buchou thought he was gonna make Singles One.

Therefore, he'd just have to prove him right.

Word Count: 268 / 13176

**045**. Moon

"So, you're my roommate." The redhead flashed a blindingly white smile at him. "Does that make me lucky or not?"

Kirihara blinked, dropping his bag on the bed closest to the door. "What do you mean?"

Sengoku shrugged. "I've heard about you, Rik-kai-dai," he drawled, drawing out the syllables of his school's name. "But really, you look too cute to be a monster."

Before he could stop himself, Kirihara flinched. It was only the slightest of movements but he knew, by the way Sengoku's eyes narrowed fractionally, that the older boy had caught it. He shrugged it off. "It makes you lucky," he said, ignoring the 'monster' comment. "You should be honored."

The other boy chuckled. "If you say so, kiddo."

Akaya decided to ignore him and started unpacking his stuff. As he didn't have much, it didn't take very long. Sengoku seemed content to sit and watch him, but Kirihara was used to tuning out annoying people. He'd been practicing with Niou for the last two years.

He glanced out the dorm room window. The moon was getting high in the night sky, and they had an early morning practice. With that in mind, he grabbed his nightclothes and his toothbrush and headed for the door.

"Just so you know," Sengoku said suddenly. "I don't put much stock in rumors."

Akaya closed his eyes, leaning against the door. He didn't turn around. "You should."

"Why?"

"I hurt people," Kirihara said, turning around and smirking dangerously. "Didn't you hear?"

Sengoku smiled back, still friendly. "Are you trying to intimidate me?"

This was not typically how people who had seen him play, treated him. Kirihara cocked his head to the side. "You're not afraid of me?"

Sengoku burst out laughing. "Kid, I have had the dubious honor of attempting to restrain and calm one of the most violent psychopaths in the known world who happens to be a part of my tennis team. Even though he claims he won't play anymore," he added as an after thought. "You, I only have to watch out for on the court. With Akutsu-kun, one has to watch out for him _off _the court. Preferably armed with sedatives and a straight jacket."

"He's that nuts?"

"He has his moments," Sengoku said, still grinning. "But he can't be all bad. Little Taichi adores him, and he hasn't put the kid in the hospital yet."

Kirihara snorted, amused. "That the kid with the headband two sizes too big?"

"That's the one."

"Interesting."

"Yup." Sengoku tilted his head to the side, mimicking Akaya's earlier movement. "I think we'll get along just fine, Kirihara-kun."

Kirihara tentatively smiled back, feeling a bit overwhelmed, but also a sense of pride and a relief. Of all the things he'd expected to encounter on his first day, a possible friend was not one of them. "Me too."

Word Count: 478 / 13659

**046.** Star

_Damn it!_

Akaya stormed into the room he shared with Sengoku. The other boy wasn't there – no doubt he was still downstairs with the others discussing what had just happened.

Fucking Kamio. Fucking Fudomine. And their precious shining star, their crown prince of martyrdom, Tachibana.

Like a goddamned pack of wolves gnawing on a bone that's been chewed to death. He couldn't back down – hell, no matter how much he was changing his play, his style, he was _not _going to feel guilty for his victory over Tachibana. The guy could have quit long before his leg got that bad, but no, he just had to try and show off.

Stupid Kamio. Freaking redheads and their tempers. Akaya rubbed his temples and tried to forget the look in Kamio's eyes, or the wary expressions on the faces of everyone in the dining hall. They practically ignored Kamio's little fit other than pulling him off. And he hadn't even done anything!

Fuck. He'd hoped that the Camp would be his new starting point. The beginning of the end for his current limits. He couldn't change the past, but damn it, why was it so hard to change the future?

"Nasty, nasty," came a voice from the door. Akaya's head snapped up to see Sengoku standing there, waving casually. "Can I come in, or will you bite my head off?"

Akaya snorted and looked away.

Sengoku came in and sat down. "Joking, joking!" He handed his roommate a bottled water. "Here."

Well. That was unexpected. "Thanks." He took it, a tad warily.

"I think I told you I don't scare easily," Sengoku said calmly. "But you know, if the coaches get wind of this, it's not going to look good on you."

"You think I don't know that?" Kirihara snapped.

The redhead held up his hands defensively. "Gotcha."

Kirihara grumbled silently. As much as he hated to admit it, Sengoku hadn't done anything. In fact, he was being downright nice to him, and he had no reason to be. The least he could do was be a bit... nicer.

"Sengoku-san," he said quietly. He waited until the third year was looking at him, before muttering, "Sorry." He held up the water bottle. "And thanks."

Sengoku grinned. "You already thanked me for that."

Akaya scowled, flushing red. "So I'm doing it again!" he barked. He grabbed his clothes and stomped towards the door. He hated being embarrassed. "I'm getting ready for bed!"

"Good idea," Sengoku's cheerful voice came from behind him. "Early to bed, early to rise. Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise!"

Kirihara rolled his eyes and pulled the door shut behind him.

Word Count: 442 / 14101

**047.** Heart

He should have been more careful.

He should have ignored her. He should have kept walking and not said anything about her brother. She was already on edge with him, screaming about who he was targeting now, and damned if that didn't sting a little bit. He was _trying_. But she was obviously still broken-hearted that her brother couldn't attend the camp, and _he _was the reason why; yet he couldn't stop himself from making that stupid comment about her caring for her brother's welfare being disgusting. It was like his mouth was on autopilot, still used to making those deliberate kinds of comments that were so good at setting people up for the destructive play that he no longer had the drive for.

Kirihara thought it was kinda neat that he seemed to have so much time to think about all of this as he fell backwards, like a slow-motion replay.

Then he was falling faster; pain struck him, _hard_, and the last thing he saw before the darkness swept over him was her horrified eyes burning into his.

Word Count: 182 / 14282

**048.** Diamond

it was really irritating how no one listened to him. He'd said a dozen times already that he'd tripped on his own, that Kamio had nothing to do with his fall down the stairs, and that they should all just shut up about it, but no one was hearing a word he said. It was irritating, and aggravating and freaking pointless...

...and if that stupid little Seigaku brat didn't stop stabbing him with those wipes made of acid, he was going to break his fingers.

Kamio was still sputtering about his innocence, and really, Akaya felt a slight hint of pity for him. He knew that Kamio was telling the truth, but no one was listening to him either. How ironic that they should have that in common at this particular time?

Then Kamio swore to find the perpetrator himself, and Kirihara blinked at the raw determination in those eyes. Hard, eyes, diamond chips of blue spitting righteous fury, and Akaya had a feeling this guy wouldn't let it go, not at all. Not with his honor at stake.

Problem was, finding out the truth of what happened would hurt him even more then the accusations. Akaya scowled to himself. He didn't owe any loyalty to the Fudomine girl - who was partly responsible for what had happened, thank you very much – but the ranting idiot in front of him was close to her, and would likely feel bad if he knew she'd been involved.

Kirihara was determined to change, one way or the other. He hadn't made a very good start of it, but he could let this go and not get her into trouble. And since Kamio really was innocent, it would have to blow over, right? He wasn't about to accuse the speed demon of something he knew for a fact had nothing to do with him.

"I'm going to bed," he announced coolly, and stalked out of the room, leaving them to their gossip and speculations like a bunch of girls.

He felt like one big bruise, but he'd had worse. And besides, he couldn't deny that he felt a bit better for having played the protector instead of being the protected, for a change.

Word Count: 368 / 14650

**049.** Club

Kirihara sat down on his bed gingerly. Everything ached, like he'd been worked over but good by someone wielding a two-by-four. He was suddenly glad his roommate was still downstairs; he didn't want anyone to see him wincing and whimpering over his boo-boos. They'd probably use it against him in next days practice matches.

There was a knock on the door, and he bit back a curse. "Go away," he snarled instead.

"Open the door, Akaya," came the stern voice of Sanada Fukou-buchou, and Akaya grimaced.

He walked over to the door and opened it, looking at Sanada questioningly. Surely the other boy couldn't have known what had happened already? Then Sanada pushed by him, and Kirihara couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped him as his Fuko-buchou's arm hit a large bruise on his side.

"What was that?" Sanada was suddenly gripping his arm, and it freaky how quick he did it.

"Nothing. I'm fine, leggo!" Kirihara pulled his arm free and walked stiffly towards his bed, plopping down on it. "What are you doing here, Fukou-buchou? You'll get in trouble."

"There are still twenty minutes until lights out, and I have already obtained permission to check on you, provided I return before then." His eyes narrowed. "Yanagi calculated a seventy-three percent chance of you getting into some kind of trouble by this point." He looked at where he had brushed against the younger player pointedly. "I see he was right."

"It's nothing."

"_Akaya!_" There was no mistaking _that_ tone.

Kirihara jumped, and immediately launched into his story about how he tripped and fell down the stairs, how no one believed him when he said Fudomine's Kamio had nothing to do with it, and how Kamio was vowing some stupid revenge when there was nothing to get revenge for. Somehow, despite Sanada's laser eyes, he managed to keep from mentioning An's involvement.

Sanada listened to him, watching him steadily. As Akaya wound down to a close, Sanada tilted his head very slightly to the side. "Are you sure that's all you have to say about it?"

Akaya nodded.

"...Fine."

He made Kirihara stand up and take off his shirt so he could check the bruises himself. He sat through a lecture about how he was being irresponsible by not going to the nurse, and nodded dutifully when he was told to go there if he felt any sharp increases in pain.

"I will send Yanagi to check on you tomorrow," Sanada finished with. "And you will continue to behave yourself. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Fukou-buchou."

Sanada nodded and walked to the door. He paused though, and looked back. "There is something you are not telling me. That is your prerogative. However, if it affects your tennis, it will become _my_ prerogative. Do you understand?"

" ...Yes, Fukou-buchou."

Sanada bid him a curt goodnight and left. Sengoku came in not long after.

"How you feeling, roomie?"

Akaya groaned. "Shut up and go to sleep, Yamabuki."

"I'm hurt, you've forgotten my name already." Sengoku winked at him. Then he looked serious. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I was."

The older boy was still frowning. "Kirihara-kun, no matter what you've done in the past, no one has the right to hurt you now. You know that, right?"

Oh, that was rich. Kirihara glanced over a mental summary of his life story and barely kept from bursting into sardonic snorts and giggles. "Sure, Sengoku-san. Whatever you say."

Word Count: 581 / 15231

**050.** Spade

He didn't know what he was expecting when he saw her the next day. Remorse, maybe? Guilt for being part of the reason why he felt like a herd of elephants had trampled over him?

What he saw from her sure didn't look like guilt to him. She stared flatly at him, expressionless. There wasn't even the tiniest bit of relief that he was okay that he could see. He'd die before admitting it, but that hurt almost more than the bruises.

Still, he couldn't really blame her. The history between her, her brother, and himself was not a pretty one, and he hadn't really improved things much by taunting her the night before. Maybe if he'd given her a straight answer, she'd look a little happier to see him, instead of looking like she wanted to hit him over the head with a shovel and bury him six feet under.

Word Count: 151 / 15382

--------------------------------

My head is _aching_. I'm going to bed. Thanks for reading. The next batch will be up in a couple of days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:**Kirihara Akaya

**Author:**Stormy1x2 

**Prompts:** 51 - 60

**Rating:** PG13 for language and alcohol

**Word Count: **Tallied after each fic.

Notes: Same as before. We've gone into AU land, and all those not happy with that decision can turn back now. Parts 51 to 56 were actually finished and posted on LJ two weeks ago, but it took time to get the last 4 done.

o0oo0oo0o

**051.** Water

Breathing hard, Akaya stared at the hole he'd just punched through the wall with a tennis ball. Cracked glazing snaked outwards from the impacted center like scattered spider webs; shards fell like a sparkling waterfall on the blacktop beneath. 

That last deadly hit had broken through the vision he'd had of the demon wearing his face, but he could still feel his muscles trembling from the strain of keeping it together. Part of him wanted to run, far and fast, like he'd tried to do inside his head, but the practical part of him also knew that you couldn't outrun the nightmares inside your brain. All you could do was try not to let them win.

The monster's voice was loud, cackling malevolently in his ear, but he ignored it, reaching over to pick up another ball. He would exorcise his demons one way or another – through sheer physical exertion if he had to. He would prove to the world that he was not who he used to be, and the demons could just kiss his a--

"Kirihara-san?"

Akaya looked up and saw golden eyes coolly watching him from beneath the brim of a familiar cap. He tilted his head, intrigued. "What do you want?"

An equally familiar smirk. "Play me."

Akaya breathed slowly as the demons shrieked for blood. Pushing them back, he returned the smirk with a nod.

Word Count: 231 / 15613

**052.** Fire

Ryoma watched Kirihara play against the wall. He was doing a standard drill, on he'd done himself a million times, but the Rikkai ace was putting a lot more effort into it. He slammed the ball harder and harder, his moves becoming quicker and more erratic. Ryoma's own eyes narrowed as he took in the near-frantic pace.

Kirihara interested Ryoma. He'd seen first hand how the Rikkai player tried to hurt his opponents in the match with Fuji, but his protective actions towards An didn't make sense. If Kirihara was truly an evil person like everyone claimed, then he would have turned An in. He could have been seriously hurt, but instead of taking revenge and having her sent home, he took the blame for the fall himself. Those were not the actions he would expect from the boy who maimed Tachibana, and who tried to break Fuji.

Suddenly, with a massive surge of energy, Kirihara hit the wall so hard that the tennis ball shattered the glazed surface with a crunch he could hear from across the court. The ball hung there for a minute, gravity seemingly suspended in a moment of shocked disbelief, before falling to the ground and rolling slowly to a stop. 

Kirihara stood unmoving, breathing hard. Ryoma watched silently, seeing the myriad of expressions play over the boy's face, running the emotional gamut from fear, to anger and frustration. No. This wasn't the same boy at all.

Ryoma always did like interesting opponents. Kirihara, for whatever reason, didn't seem as scary as he used to be. There was a fire in his eyes now, a determination that hadn't been there before, a silent cry for acknowledgment on the battlefield that was the tennis court.

He would see for himself what this Kirihara was like. With a smirk of his own, Ryoma stepped forward to answer the challenge. 

Word Count: 313 / 15926

**053.** Earth

It would be so easy to give in. 

The ground fades away, his eyes narrow in on a familiar target and his hand twitches ever so slightly. One shot. That's all it would take. It would secure his win, ensure his dominance over his opponent.

But it wouldn't stop there, if he did that. If he didn't change here, now, he never would. Akaya snarled deep in his throat, rearing back, readying himself. He could hear screams and cries from the sides of the courts, shouts for him to stop, but it's too late when he's already in the air.

_They have no idea._

Kirihara smashed his racquet, sending the ball hurtling down, down, _past_ Ryoma, just inside the white line, and then comes back down to earth. The cries and hollers have been cut off; choked to death by what they see in front of them, even if they can't believe it.

"I thought you were going to hit my knee," Ryoma says, and the brat is _still_smirking at him. But past the cocky upper lip, Akaya can see genuine hints of a real smile, and he almost doesn't remember to wipe his own away.

"I don't need tricks like that to beat you," he sneers instead, and walks back to the baseline. He's calm, he tells himself; poised, ready to continue.

But as he gets ready to serve, his eyes catch sight of a familiar dark gaze on the sidelines, watching him from beneath the brim of a white cap. He freezes at the faint smile on Sanada's face. Stunned. Then Sanada leaves, and feeling rushes back into him, filling and energizing. Across the court, Ryoma is still grinning, and Akaya realizes he doesn't care about pretenses anymore. 

The smile reaches full power as he throws the ball into the air, and serves.

Word Count: 305 / 16231

**054.** Air

An watched in disbelief as the tennis ball rolled to a stop at the far end of the court. He'd missed. Kirihara had _missed_. He'd had the perfect opportunity to attack Ryoma's leg, just as he had to her brother, and to Seigaku's Fuji Syuuske, but he didn't take it.

_He really has changed,_ she realized. He'd changed, and she had not. She had still been angry, still harboring a need for revenge, and with that thought, she blushed a light red. Red for shame, shame for her own actions. By losing her temper and holding a grudge – something Kippei was always warning her about – she'd nearly severely injured one player, and could have caused the dismissal of another.

"I need to apologize properly to him," murmured Kamio, and An snapped her head to the side, looking at her friend in surprise. The redhead was watching the Rikkai ace and had a grin on his face, an eager look that An easily recognized.

_He wants to play Kirihara_. And not for revenge, she noted. Not anymore. She blew her breath out in a small huff, and moved closer.

An raised her hand, letting her fingers tighten around the thin metal wires, and made a mental note to make a formal apology of her own.

Word Count: 213 / 16445

**055.** Spirit

Kirihara lunged for the ball and made the return. It was a good one, enough to make Echizen curse and sprint to the opposite end of the court to get to it. Once Ryoma was in a rhythm, there weren't many people who could continue to surprise him. Akaya was absurdly proud of himself.

He knew that he was still grinning, and he made no effort to make it go away. For the first time in a very long time, he was having fun. No one was watching for errors. No one was shouting at him to hurry up, or to fix a step. There were no more shouts of dismayed horror coming from the sidelines, no coach or captains sitting with folded arms and narrowed eyes. 

There was no pressure, and to be honest, Akaya couldn't remember the last time he'd played just for fun. He felt lighter somehow, like he could really leave the planet behind as he flew for a cross corner slice. Ryoma shot the ball back to him hard, and he had to tighten his grip to keep the racquet from flying out of his hand. A quick pivot, a sweeping backhand, and the rally continued.

A laugh – Kirihara did_not_ giggle – escaped him as he set himself up for Ryoma's return, and though he knew his moment of peace wouldn't last forever, he kinda hoped it wouldn't end anytime soon.

**Word Count: **236 / 16681

**056.** Breakfast

Kamio trudged into the dining hall, yawning widely. No matter how many years he spent getting up early for practices, he would never be a morning person. He wouldn't even be up this early – six o'clock was really pushing it when Senbatsu practices didn't technically begin until eight o'clock - but Kajimoto's alarm had gone off at five, with the Jyousei Shounan captain heading outside for his own personal training not long after. And once Kamio was up, well, he was up for the day.

Clapping his hand over another jaw-breaking yawn, he halted just inside the doorway. He wasn't the only one awake at that ungodly hour. Kirihara Akaya was seated at one of the tables, flipping through a book. A half-finished glass of apple juice sat just out of elbowing range. For a minute, Kamio debated whether or not to go in, or go back out.

_Well, I did want to apologize,_ Kamio told himself sternly. _Now seems like the perfect time._ With that thought in mind, he cautiously walked over to the other boy.

"Kirihara-san?"

The Rikkai player's head snapped up defensively. A wary look came over his face. "Kamio? What do _you_ want?"

The lack of any sort of honorific would have been an insult coming from most people, but Kirihara's baffled and suspicious expression made Kamio grin. "I was just wondering how it's possible there are two of us stupid enough to be awake at this hour."

Kirihara snorted. "Don't you have morning practices at Fudomine?"

Kamio slid into a seat across from him. "Yes, but when I actually have the option of sleeping in, I usually try to take advantage of it. Don't you?"

"Sengoku talks in his sleep," Kirihara said. He looked exasperated. "He asks girls out on dates and gets turned down and then blubbers about it. How the hell do you get dates when you're awake, but get turned down in your dreams?"

Kamio snickered. "I'm not sure."

"What's your excuse?"

"Kajimoto-kun. He apparently has a schedule he sticks to religiously, which involves a very loud alarm going off promptly at 5am every morning."

"And people say I'm sadistic?" Kirihara rolled his eyes. Then he closed his book, folded his arms on top of it, and cocked his head to the side, staring at Kamio with determination. "What?"

Kamio blinked. "What?"

"What do you want?" Akaya clarified. "You and I aren't exactly best friends. In fact, I seem to recall you threatening to kill me after I put your captain in the hospital. I realize we seem to have formed a sort of temporary peace for this camp – and because I didn't turn your little girlfriend in for making me fall down the stairs – but since when have you been up for small talk that didn't involve finding non-existent tennis camp criminals?"

Kamio scowled at him. "First of all, An is not my girlfriend. She's a friend that's a girl, but that's it. And second, I wanted to apologize to you."

The baffled look was back on Kirihara's face. Kamio held back a snicker. "Say _what?_"

"I wanted to apologize," Kamio repeated. "We – An and me, I mean – were pretty sure you were gonna target someone at this camp. We haven't exactly been thinking or saying nice things about it either. But you really have changed." Kamio relaxed back in his seat. "That match with Ryoma was proof. You've changed, and we haven't."

"One match doesn't mean a hell of a lot."

"When you're the one playing? Yes, it does." Kamio looked at him seriously. "You play to win, every time. You did this time too – but you did it without resorting to your old tactics." He shrugged. "So, I apologize for badmouthing you. I shouldn't have done it."

"Who are you, and what have you done with the real Kamio?" Kirihara demanded, still looking shell-shocked.

Kamio grinned and let the comment slide. "Also, I wanna play you."

"_What?_"

This was actually getting to be kind of fun. It wasn't often Kamio was on the delivering end of surprises – usually he was the one being targeted for shocks. Particularly with best friends like Ishida and Sakurai. "I said, I want to play a game with you. I want to play the real Kirihara."

Kirihara looked at him without saying anything for a long minute. Then he smirked and tilted his head to the other side. "What makes you think you're up to it?"

"I'm pretty sure I could give you a decent challenge," Kamio returned easily. "I'm one of the fastest people you'll ever go against."

"Too bad," Kirihara said with a wink as he stood up. "Sometimes slowing things down can be a lot more fun. But sure, anytime you're up for it." With that he winked, and sauntered out of the cafeteria.

Kamio blinked, flushing bright red, and was suddenly very grateful that no one was there to see it. It seemed in some arenas, Kirihara still wasn't opposed to playing dirty. 

Word Count: 840 / 17521

**057.** Lunch

Kirihara was still surprised that Kamio had sought him out to apologize to him. Not only that, but to challenge him to what appeared to be a friendly match. Not many people had ever challenged Kirihara for anything other than revenge on behalf of someone Akaya had brutalized. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

So when An plopped herself down next to him at lunch, he skittered to the edge of his seat, watching her with same wariness a field mouse watches a hawk. "What do you want?"

"To properly apologize to you," she said with a cheerful grin, and Kirihara groaned.

"First Kamio and now you? Have you been replaced with pod people? Are they brainwashing us one by one here or something?"

"You must watch too many bad science-fiction movies," she told him, propping her head up with one hand. "They rot your brain and make you paranoid, you know."

"So, you Fudomine people must watch them a lot," he shot back.

An smacked his arm lightly. "Would you shut up and accept my apology already?" Her eyes turned serious. "I mean it. You could have been badly hurt because I was being a brat." An lowered her gaze to the table. "I didn't mean for that to happen, you know."

"I kinda figured that," Kirihara muttered roughly. She'd reached out to hit him, sure, but he'd been the one to step backwards instead of taking it like a man. If he'd been paying more attention to where the stairs were, nothing would have happened at all. "Anyway, whatever."

"So you accept it?"

"Yes, fine already." Kirihara's ears were burning. "'Sides, it's not like it hurt or anything."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I heard you were afraid of the first aid kit."

"That's because that Seigaku brat was using acid to try and fix me up," he said scowling. "Shut up."

"Good." An smiled one last time at him, and stood up. "I have to go help serve the next group coming in. Bye, Kirihara-kun!"

Just as she was about to walk away, Kirihara swallowed hard, and reached out, lightly grabbing her wrist. "Why?"

"Why what?" She asked, looking down at where he gripped her arm, and then back at him.

"Why are you bein' so nice? Your brother isn't here because of me, remember?" Akaya stared at her, not completely believing that she was as pure in her intentions as she seemed.

An narrowed her eyes at him. "Trust me, that's not something I'm likely to forget," she said coolly. "But my brother is always telling me I need to learn to let things go." She snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner. "You know, he hasn't said one bad thing about you since it happened? The worst I think he said was to tell Fuji to be careful when he played you." An's cheeks flushed a faint red. "I think I need to start listening to my big brother more often. He's a lot more mature than me."

Kirihara let go of her wrist and watched her walk away. He hadn't been expecting an answer like that.

Sengoku suddenly appeared next to him. "Come on, Kirihara-kun!" he caroled. "Time to go! You can watch your little girlfriend later."

Akaya glared at him. "She's not my girlfriend," he snarled. "We were just talking!"

"Ah, but that's how these things start," Sengoku said, waggling his finger. He gave a huge mock-sigh, clasping his hands next to his cheek. "Young love is such a beautiful thing to behold!"

"You...I...GRRRR!" Kirihara leaped up from the table and chased the laughing Yamabuki player out of the cafeteria, grateful for the distraction. Two apologies in one day made him nervous, and smacking Sengoku's over-sized head off a wall or two sounded like a good way to work off tension.

Word Count:639 / 24160

**058.** Dinner

The dinner on the final day before the end of camp was a quiet affair. Everyone was on edge, knowing that the trials were over, and that in the morning, seven people would be chosen to make up the team.

Kirihara glanced around curiously. Most of his teammates had pensive, worried looks on their faces. The exceptions were Sengoku – did that guy _ever_ worry? - and Seigaku's number one annoyance, Ryoma, whose expression never seemed to change anyway. Cocky brat.

Well, he was proud to say – if anyone cared to ask– that he wasn't the least bit nervous. He was going to get the Singles One position, no matter what. He could _feel_ it. He'd worked hard for it, and it was going to be his. He smiled down at his dinner and picked up his fork, tucking in heartily.

"That's the spirit!" Sengoku grinned at him. "No sense worrying about who got picked until tomorrow – it's not a good enough reason to miss out on the important things in life!"

"Like stuffing your face?" Akaya snarked. 

"Exactly!" Sengoku pointed his knife down the table where Momoshiro was digging into a bowl of rice that was bigger than his head. "Take him for example."

"I'd rather not," Kirihara said, rolling his eyes at the mess the second year was making. 

Sengoku ignored him. "He's not letting anything get him down, right, Momoshiro-kun?"

Deep inside his rice bowl, Momoshiro apparently couldn't hear. Ryoma could, however, and the youngster leaned forward. "Actually, he eats more when he's nervous."

Sengoku pouted, his theory shot down. "He does?"

"Mmhmm."

"Loser," Akaya muttered. He finished his own food and pushed the bowl away, feeling nice and full. Standing up and stretching, he sketched a quick wave to Sengoku and left the dining hall, pausing long enough to hand over his tray to the first year with the bowl cut, who was apparently in charge of that night's cleanup.

Stepping outside the mess hall, Akaya took a deep breath and stretched again, reaching his hands out towards the stars overhead. The contentment he'd been feeling grew stronger, the confidence he had in his abilities swelling through him.

There was no way he wasn't getting the Singles One spot. No. _Way._

Whistling cheerfully, he headed back to the dorms.

Word Count: 382 / 24542

**059**. Food

As it was with dinner, so to was it within the ranks assembled in the parking lot. Everyone stared ahead at Sakaki-Sensei like if they tried hard enough, they could actually read through the back of the paper he held. Kirihara bit back a laugh at the pathetic puppy dogs all begging for a scrap to be thrown their way.

Not him, though. Kirihara kept his smirk small and unobtrusive, but he couldn't get rid of it completely. Atobe and Sanada were givens. Fuji, well... Akaya shuddered. Much as he hated to admit it, the Seigaku Tensai was probably going to make it too. Rokaku was out though – their players were jokes. Same for Fudomine. The Echizen brat was probably on the list though, and maybe that cue ball-headed guy from Jyousei-Shonan. There was probably at least another Hyoutei player, and he was even willing to bet Sengoku had made the team too – the redhead was not only a returning player from last year, but he had shown off a huge improvement in front of the coaches during their practice matches. 

Sakaki-opened the paper and cleared his throat, before raising a bored glance over the nervous players.

"Sanada Genichirou !"

"Atobe Keigo!"

"Oshitari Yuushi!"

"Sengoku Kiyosumi!"

"Kikumaru Eiji!"

"Fuji Syuuske!"

Kirihara closed his eyes, feeling the smile grow on his face as he waited, just _knowing_...

"Kirihara Akaya!"

Anyone watching him would have thought he didn't give a damn about making the team, as he stood there, head bowed slightly, eyes closed and a smirk on his lips. But his fist tightened by his side, and felt the excitement course through him as he eagerly looked forward to the next step in his tennis career.

Word Count: 288 / 24830

**060. **Drink

Kirihara stood outside his door, tennis bag in hand. The camp had been a nice break from reality, but all good things must eventually come to an end. Akaya straightened up, strode forward, knocked once, and entered his home.

Inside, he blinked. The scent of alcohol was overpowering. Dropping his bag, he followed his nose into the living room. His father was slumped over in his recliner, glaring balefully at the TV. A bottle of Reeb dangled loosely from his fingers, and the room itself was littered with numerous dead soldiers – proof of a very definite binge.

Akaya swallowed hard. This was very dangerous territory. "Dad?"

His father's head slowly tilted to the side until he was more or less looking in his direction. "...'Kaya?"

"Yeah. Um... I'm back." Akaya didn't move from the safety of the living room door. If his dad decided to chuck the bottle at him, he could duck behind the wooden frame. "I didn't think you'd be home."

"Not gonna be," his dad garbled. "Leavin' tomorrow fer 'conf'rence."

Akaya shrugged internally. This was nothing new. Though his dad had a mean temper, an even meaner right hook, and now apparently issues with drinking, he was also a high-level executive with a brilliant marketing mind, which had put him in demand with top companies years ago. He'd begun his own consulting business soon after graduating university, and clients were constantly flying him places to handle problems they couldn't. He didn't like his dad a whole lot, but he could respect him for that alone.

"Where's mom?" he asked. It was weird that she wasn't there, complaining about the mess.

His father laughed harshly, making Akaya wince. "Gone, boy. Good for nothing, lazy fucking woman, don't need her anyway..." his voice trailed off into mutters, his eyes rolling back to watch the TV screen.

Akaya blinked. "What?"

His father snorted, obviously on the verge of passing out.

"Dad, what do you mean Mom's _gone_? Gone where?"

It was no use. His dad was unconscious – hell, Akaya was probably lucky he'd seen him awake at all, if the empty bottles scattered about were an indication of how much he'd had recently. Akaya stepped forward cautiously, and saw a piece of paper on his dad's stomach. It was on the pale green stationary she sparingly used for thank you letters to the neighbours. It had been a gift from Akaya four years ago on Mother's Day. It had been the first present Akaya had saved up for and bought with his own money.

Leaning over his dad, he reached down and carefully picked it up, backing up to get out of range in case his dad woke up swinging. Opening it, he read it carefully:

_Goodbye._

It was signed in his mother's handwriting. Akaya felt like something cold and hard had punched him in the stomach. The paper fell from his hand, fluttering lightly to the ground, and he followed it, sinking to the floor as abruptly as a puppet with its strings cut.

His mother was gone.

Suddenly, winning the Singles One spot didn't seem as exciting anymore.

Word Count: 515 / 25345

o0oo0oo0o

End


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **Kirihara Akaya

**Author: **Stormy1x2** ( **travelingstorm** )**

**Prompts:** 61 – 70

**Pairings:** None

**Spoilers:** Senbatsu Camp arc

**Warnings:** Language.

**Notes: **Yukimura is still in the hospital over the course of the Senbatsu Camp arc and the days immediately following it, even though his surgery was a success. We never hear differently in the anime (and don't quote the manga at me – frankly I do not care, as I've never read the manga, so let it GO) and I'm using the excuse that he's still doing intense physical therapy to get himself back into shape after months of being bedridden and weak. Also, some dangling plot threads start to get tied up here as we start heading into the home stretch.

**o0o o0o o0o o0o o0o o0o**

**061.** Winter

Akaya missed class the next day. His father didn't care – hangover notwithstanding, he was still a responsible businessman, and so he'd been out the door to catch his flight at seven am, not even bothering to wake up his son to say goodbye.

Akaya woke up at eight-thirty, not having fallen asleep until sometime well after four in the morning. He'd sat up for most of the night, alternating stares at the paper he'd retrieved from the living room floor soon after regaining the use of his legs, and staring out the window, wondering dazedly where his mother was at that moment.

She'd left. Not even a word for him, her son. Akaya didn't blame her for leaving – she'd put up with a lot, especially over the last few years from her bully of a husband, but then, he shouldn't have been surprised that he didn't warrant an explanation. When was the last time they'd really talked?

Akaya stared out window again. The sun was steadily rising – it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day, which made no sense to him. It was summer, but Akaya felt as cold as if he had been thrust directly into the middle of winter while wearing a t-shirt and shorts. His phone played the ending from 'Dragonball Z' and he blinked at it, lying on the dresser next to his bed where he'd automatically placed it the night before. He picked it up but didn't answer.

Yanagi calling. Two missed messages, one from Sanada, and the other from Yanagi again. They were probably alternating calls. Kirihara gently set the phone down, and curled back up under his blankets, turning his back on the room. The school would probably call within the next hour when he didn't show up, but it was an automated message that he'd delete. His dad was gone anyway, and Kirihara knew he wouldn't be back for at least a week, if not longer.

This was not good. He'd been selected as a participant in the Goodwill Games. He had to step up his practice and polish his game in preparation for the competition ahead. But at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

The phone stopped ringing.

Akaya stared at the wall for a long, long time before his eyes finally closed.

Word Count: 388 / 25733

**062.** Spring

"Still no answer?" Niou appeared behind Yanagi silently, almost cat-like in his movements. Peering over Yanagi's shoulder, he shook his head at the lack of messages in the inbox. "Wonder how many laps this'll cost him?"

Marui came over, dropping his jacket on the bench and then smoothly bringing his hand up in a continued motion to smack Niou on the arm. "Can it, laughing-boy." Turning his head to Yanagi, he blew out a bubble of strawberry pink gum, snapping it twice in rapid succession. "Think the kid's okay?"

Yanagai frowned at the screen. He and Sanada had been taking turns trying to reach Akaya all through practice that morning. Subsequent calls at lunch had also gone unanswered. Niou had made a strategic run to the school office and had somehow – Yanagi had made a vow to never again ask how Niou accomplished his little self-imposed missions – gotten a hold of the attendance sheets for Kirihara's classes that day. Yanagi was not ashamed to admit he had become a tad... concerned, when he saw 'Absent' marked on every sheet.

"He was fine yesterday," Niou reflected. "Why shouldn't he be? He made the team."

That was a fact. Kirihara had been in a positive mood when he'd been dropped off at home after Senbatsu camp had ended. Somewhere between yesterday afternoon and this morning before practice, something had obviously happened to the second year.

Renji considered the situation carefully. Akaya had looked healthy enough – he certainly didn't seem sick or unwell at all. The last time Akaya had been sick during a practice was last Spring when Yukimura had sent the boy home after he'd shown up barking like a seal from bronchitis.

"Why is everyone standing around?" Sanada appeared next to him, almost as quietly as Niou's approach had been. "Twenty laps, everyone!"

Niou groaned but grabbed Yagyuu by the arm and dragged him towards the courts. Marui and Jackal shrugged and followed suit. Yanagi stayed where he was, pen between his teeth, absently nibbling on the lid as he pondered the situation.

" Renji." Sanada glanced at him, eyes dark beneath the brim of his cap.

"Hmm?"

"Is there a chance that Akaya might have been more seriously injured during his fall at camp?"

Obviously Sanada was thinking along the same lines he was. "Anything serious enough to prevent him from showing up – or at the very least, to keep him from calling – would have manifested before now. The fall happened on the second day of camp. That was five days ago."

Either Akaya had gotten sick overnight and forgot to call, or he was deliberately skipping practice. Akaya was a brat a good percentage of the time, but he was also a seriously dedicated athlete who had just won a prime position to play for Japan in an international tournament. Mentally, he crossed off 'skipping' in his mind. Something had to be wrong.

"Sanada. I think it might be prudent if we paid Akaya a visit after practice today," Yanagi said quietly.

Sanada frowned, but nodded in agreement.

Word Count: 511 / 26244

**063.** Summer

Sanada strode confidently up the walkway to Akaya's home. Renji trailed a bit behind, taking in the entire front of the house and committing it to memory, as was his habit. Sanada didn't hesitate as he reached the front door, and smartly rapped on the wooden paneling three times, before ringing the doorbell once.

After a few minutes, Renji's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "I don't believe there's anyone home." A quick view of the carport revealed no vehicles, though there were oil stains and various articles strewn about that indicated the Kirihara household possessed at least one automobile.

Pulling out his cellphone, he scrolled through his phone book, searching. As he had done with all the Regulars, Akaya's cell phone had been put under speed dial. His home phone however, was not called nearly as often. He dialed and waited. The phone rang from somewhere inside the house. After fifteen rings, he disconnected. "If someone is home, they're determined not to answer."

Sanada frowned. Instinctively, he tried the door. It was unlocked. His eyebrow raised, and he glanced at Renji. "What do you think?"

Renji thought quickly. There was a slim chance that perhaps Akaya was either ill or injured enough to be unable to answer the phone. "I think we'd best be sure."

"Very well." Sanada opened the door partially, and leaned his head in very slightly. "Hello? Kirihara-san? My apologies for intruding."

Nothing. Renji exchanged another look with Sanada, and then suddenly pushed the door open, slipping inside. Akaya's father was frequently on business, so that would probably explain his absence. Akaya's mother could be out shopping. But as for Akaya himself... Renji was now past concerned, and was heading straight into 'worried' territory.

A quick scan of the hallway and the connecting living room revealed a surprisingly large number of empty beer bottles. Many were overturned, leaking stale alcohol over the surfaces they'd been left on. Shards of glass caught the light from a crack in the curtains and twinkled merrily at them.

"Akaya?" Sanada called out, eying the room with distaste. Nothing.

"As much as I dislike adopting Niou's penchant for breaking and entering, I think we should check Akaya's room, at the very least," Renji suggested quietly. The entire scene disturbed him. Something had happened, and he wasn't sure what. He would feel better once he saw his kouhai in one piece.

"Agreed." Sanada abruptly turned and headed for the stairs.

Akaya's room was simple enough to find. The door was open, and tennis gear, posters, action figures and clothing seemed to be trying to crawl through the doorway. Renji scanned the room. "He's not here."

"Then we should leave," Sanada said brusquely.

"Before we do..." Renji pressed the speed dial number for Akaya. It rang and went to voice mail, but there was no ring coming from inside the room, or the house, as far as he could tell.

Once back outside, the front door closed but left unlocked (if Kirihara had left the house without his key, they did not want to prevent him from being able to go inside), Sanada sighed, and rubbed the brim of his hat.

"What do you suppose the odds are that he's out with his parents?" he asked wearily.

"Small. Very small. But there's always a chance." Renji closed his eyes, reviewing his data, pulling his facts together and running through them again. "Akaya's father is frequently away on business, often for days at a time. He never takes Akaya with him, though I do recall Akaya once mentioning his mother went during a conference that had extended the invitation to include spouses."

Sanada nodded, absorbing the data. "Continue."

"Akaya's mother works during the day but is home at night. There is a chance she is working overtime, or is out shopping or running other errands, of course."

"Of course."

"Akaya is not answering his cell phone. I did not hear it in his room, which means there is a ninety-three percent chance it is with him. He is not here, nor was he at practice or school, so we can rule out the grounds." Renji sighed. "Frankly, Sanada, he could be at one of the places he frequents, like the cake shop he and Marui go to on Sundays, or the street courts three and a half blocks from here. But he could also be out somewhere with his mother. If he was sick, he could be at the hospital."

"Then why wasn't the school notified?"

_Why, indeed_. Renji rubbed his brow. Though it was past six o'clock, the summer heat was still causing sweat to bead his skin. "I don't know."

Sanada shot him a rueful glance. "It's not often I hear you say that."

"True. And I sincerely wish it wasn't so, in this particular case."

"I agree." Sanada checked the streets again – no doubt, looking to see if their wayward teammate was somewhere in the distance, heading for home. "What do you propose we do?"

Renji was already dialing. "Talk to Yukimura."

Word Count: 843 / 27087

**064. **Fall

It was early afternoon by the time Akaya realized he couldn't stay in bed any longer. His body was protesting the hours of inactivity with sore joints and muscles, and so he got up even though he didn't really want to.

The house was empty, of course. Quiet too, except for the phone that rang periodically but he let it go, having no desire to defend himself from school officials who no doubt wanted to know why he was not gracing them with his presence.

The stillness of the house unnerved him, so he threw on a pair of black track pants and an old t-shirt. It was too warm outside to need a jacket, so he left it behind. About to walk out the door, he considered retrieving his racquet from the hall closet, but decided not to. For the first time that he could remember, he had no urge to play tennis.

He had a dim idea of where he was going. The idea had struck him as he'd laid in bed most of the day, though he hadn't thought about actually getting up and physically going. But now it seemed like a good idea, and he shook off the stiffness in his legs by easing into a slow, loping jog.

His destination wasn't close by. In fact, by the time he arrived, he was soaked in sweat and gasping for air – an amazing feat for someone who was routinely set to running upwards of fifty laps per practice for various rule infractions. He doubled over, sucking air into his lungs, even though Yanagi had told him over and over again that that position did not benefit his breathing at all. That thought reminded him of where he was supposed to be; a glance at his watch showed him that back at Rikkai, afternoon practice was well underway.

"Anou... K-Kirihara-san..." a timid voice cut through the babble in his head, and he looked up to see a short boy wearing an enormous headband standing in front of him. Kirihara's eyes narrowed for a second, and then widened slightly as his memory served up a picture of the boy standing with the rest of the volunteers on the podium, the first day of camp.

"Dan Taichi," he said roughly, his guess confirmed when the boy furiously nodded his head up and down like a bobble-toy.

"Yes, desu... Kirihara-san, what are you doing here, desu? Can I help you with something? Are you looking for someone?"

Dan Taichi may have had big Bambi-shaped eyes capable of stopping most people in their tracks and making them want to coo over and take care of him, but Akaya was immune. He'd spent a good portion of his time at Rikkai perfecting that same technique on his sempai. "Where's Sengoku?"

"Sengoku-sempai?" Dan's eyes grew even wider. "What do you want with Sengoku-sempai, desu?"

Kirihara growled, and the boy suddenly turned, and sprinted off across the grounds. Kirihara contemplated following him, but his muscles were still trembling from the long run from district to district. It didn't matter anyway, because a few minutes later, he heard a nasal-sounding laugh break out, and a familiar voice say his name.

"Kirihara-kun!" Sengoku stood in front of him, flashing that toothpaste smile in his direction. His hair flashed in the sun, the same burnished red as leaves in the fall, and Kirihara had no doubt Sengoku was deliberately positioning himself to catch that light for that exact purpose. "To what do we owe this honor?" Behind him, Dan Taichi peeked out nervously, watching Kirihara warily.

Akaya opened his mouth, and then closed it. His hands fisted by his side, and he shook his head. Then he sighed, raised his eyes to meet Sengoku's and shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but knowing that he wasn't quite succeeding.

"I... kinda need to talk to you."

The complete look of surprise on Sengoku's face was nearly worth the trip in itself.

Word Count: 671 / 27758

**065.** Passing

Sengoku watched the second year curiously. 'Surprised' was not the word he'd use to describe what he'd felt when Taichi had skidded to a halt in front of him, fairly exploding in his excitement to tell him that Kirihara Akaya was on the grounds and wanted to talk to him. 'Flabbergasted' was a more accurate phrase. Or 'stunned.'

Well, whatever the reason, it had to be something bad. He seriously doubted the Rikkai player would run all the way from his district to theirs unless there was something pushing him big-time, and he'd never believe the 'just passing by' line. Rikkai was an hour bus ride away, for Kami's sake.

Kirihara, still breathing heavily from his long run, was alternating his gaze from Sengoku to the ground, to Taichi and back to the ground again. Taking pity on him, Sengoku spoke without turning around. "Taichi? Would you mind going and getting a water bottle for Kirihara-kun?" He smiled, when Kirihara looked up at him. "That's a long run, and we don't want to be improper hosts by letting our guests get dehydrated. What would people think of Yamabuki then?"

"Yes, desu!" Taichi snapped his hand up in a decent salute, and sprinted off again.

Akaya watched him leave, eyes narrowed. "Have you guys tried Ritalin?"

Sengoku snickered. "Nah. We kinda like Taichi the way he is."

"Whatever." Akaya shrugged.

"How 'bout we take a walk?" Sengoku suggested, gesturing to the empty track field nearby. The cross country team did neighborhood runs in the afternoon, and the soccer team had an away game that day, which meant no one was using the track. "You can do a proper cool down instead of standing here letting your muscles cramp up, and we can talk at the same time."

Kirihara nodded, and let him lead the way over.

Dan Taichi came running back as they hit the track, handing over the water bottle with a happy burst of, 'Here you are, desu! Is there anything else I can do, desu?"

Sengoku dismissed Taichi with another grin. The look Kirihara gave Taichi was one of confusion mixed with wariness, the kind he often saw on the faces of people forced to deal with small children while waiting for them to attack. "I promise you, he's harmless."

Kirihara was too busy guzzling the water to retort verbally, so he settled for shooting him the finger, making Sengoku laugh out loud.

"You're too damn cheerful," Kirihara said finally, dropping the empty bottle to the ground. Sengoku ignored it. They could pick it up on the way back, unless Taichi skittered out and scooped it up for them.

"I try to be," he replied. "I find it makes my outlook on life more positive."

Another snort came from Kirihara's direction, but the boy didn't say anything else in response. Sengoku raised an eyebrow, waiting a minute, before shrugging and starting to walk the track. Kirihara hesitated a split second before joining him.

"So..." Sengoku said, at the hundred meter mark. "You planning on telling me what inspired this little visit, or am I going to have to guess?"

Kirihara's jaw tightened; Sengoku could see the tendons in his neck bunch. "You... we're friends, right?" He glanced quickly at Sengoku and then turned back to the black rubber of the track. "I mean, at Camp, you said..."

"I am sincerely honored to count you as one of my friends," Sengoku assured him quickly. This truly was getting interesting.

"Yeah... friends... friends talk, right?" Kirihara's cheeks had a faint splash of pink highlighting them. "About... things."

"They do."

"About... serious things?"

Sengoku studied Akaya's profile out of the corner of his eye. The pink was fading away, but the bleakness in the boy's eyes was not. Not for the first time, he wondered what on earth had brought the unusually-solemn boy so far away from home. _And why_, he thought curiously,_ isn't he talking to his teammates instead of me?_

"I don't want them to know," Kirihara said bluntly.

_Oops._ Apparently he'd said that out loud.

"You don't consider your teammates friends?"

Kirihara shot him a look that plainly said he thought that was a stupid comment. "Of course they're my friends. But they might tell someone. They're..." He stopped, biting his lip.

"Too close," Sengoku finished for him.

Kirihara shot him a look of surprise, and then nodded. "Yeah."

"I see." The redhead folded his arms behind his head as they walked. "So, what serious things did you want to talk about?"

"I... " Kirihara looked frustrated. He tried again. "Back at camp... you made a comment. About people not being allowed to hurt me."

"I did," Sengoku agreed cautiously.

"You sounded like you meant it."

"Of course I meant it. No one deserves to be hurt for no reason. Not you, not anyone."

Kirihara looked at him, staring hard. "You said it like you knew what you were talking about."

Sengoku faltered slightly under that determined gaze, and he swallowed hard, painfully. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. Briefly, he thought about lying, denying Kirihara's words, but not only would that insult the younger boy's intelligence, it would also make him close up. Something told him that would not be a good thing.

Coming to a decision, he opened his eyes, looked back at Kirihara evenly and then nodded. "I did. I do."

Suddenly, the hardness melted away from Kirihara's eyes, leaving behind nothing but utter misery and confusion. Years seemed to slip off him, leaving him looking younger then he had before, and Sengoku wondered again, just what had brought this proud young man to this level of desperation.

"Tell me?" Kirihara asked quietly, beseechingly.

Sengoku studied him and saw a mirror of himself, the way he'd been years ago. He had the same look of inner torment that had taken Sengoku years to overcome. If it was truly that bad, Sengoku wanted to help in any way he could.

Maybe something good could finally come of what had happened to him all those years ago.

Word Count: 1018 / 28776

**066. **Rain

Sengoku Kiyosumi was five years old the first time his parents left him at Uncle Kenji's house while they went on a two week vacation in Thailand. His uncle had patted him on the head, told him to stay in his room and play quietly, and not to bother him.

His mother called him 'Kiyo', but his uncle called him 'Sumi-chan', and Sengoku hated that name because it reminded him of a little girl named Kasumi in his preschool class who used that nickname and tried to ruffle his hair when he wasn't paying attention.

Kiyo played in his room – in reality, the guest bedroom of his uncle's house – with the toys he'd brought until his tummy rumbled. He decided to go downstairs and ask Uncle Kenji to make dinner.

Uncle Kenji wasn't in the living room, but Kiyo was too hungry to look around for him. He was five years old, and mommy had always said he was a good helper in the kitchen. He could get his own food.

In the process of getting the cookies from the upper shelf (via the kitchen chair), Kiyo accidentally knocked the box into the sink filled with soapy dishwater, rendering the cookies uneatable. Getting milk from the fridge was a bigger disaster – his stubby, five-year old fingers couldn't handle the big heavy carton, and he dropped it. It splattered open upon impact, milk spreading across the linoleum like white rain puddles.

His uncle came in from the backyard and saw the mess. Before Kiyo could say anything, his uncle's hand connected with his backside so hard he was propelled across the floor, sliding painfully into the legs of the kitchen chair. His uncle screamed at him for making a mess, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him up, dangling him from his painfully tight grip. He shook Kiyo violently, dropping him to push his nose in the spilled milk like he was a chastised puppy. When he let go, Kiyo skittered away on all fours, leaving his raving uncle in the kitchen to clean up the mess.

He'd huddled in the spare bedroom until he'd finally fallen asleep. The next morning, his uncle acted like nothing had happened, and had taken him to preschool. For the rest of the two weeks, he'd only blown up if Kiyo made a mess, and Kiyo learned very quickly to clean up after himself. His uncle told him not to tell anyone; that if he did, people would come and take him away from his mother and father. Kiyo didn't want that to happen, so he agreed that he would be a good boy, be careful, and not say anything.

Upon their return, his parents had been happy with the new respect Kiyo seemed to have for his belongings. His mother praised him for being so neat and tidy. Obviously her brother-in-law was a good influence on her son, and so she had no reservations about leaving Kiyo with Kenji several more times over the next two years.

Soon after Kiyo turned seven, his mother had an emergency at work. She called Kenji to come over and act as a last minute babysitter. Kiyo tried to stay in his room for the entire night, but eventually he had to go to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He accidentally squeezed too much toothpaste out of the tube; it squirted out into the sink. When he tried to wipe it up, it just spread around even more.

Uncle Kenji came in and started screaming at him for causing trouble. He pushed Kiyo roughly out of the way, and Kiyo hit his head on the toilet as he fell. Blood was streaming down the side of his face, but his uncle was too preoccupied with cleaning up the toothpaste in the sink. When Kenji did finally notice, his first concern was that the blood would stain the tiles on the floor.

By some miraculous act of the gods, his mother came home sooner then expected. She had been horrified at the sight of Kenji muttering angrily and roughly scrubbing blood off the tiles in the bathroom, with her sobbing, blood-stained son curled up in a ball behind him.

The police and her husband were called. Uncle Kenji had been taken away for evaluation, and Kiyo had been taken to the hospital to get stitches. Not long after, they asked him if anything like that had happened before. Kiyo had been afraid to tell them – afraid that Uncle Kenji has right, that someone would take him away. It took a long time before the entire story came out. His parents held and soothed him as he cried out his hurts.

After he'd calmed down, Kiyo was given a very gentle yet firm talking to about what was and wasn't allowed to happen to him. His mother had cuddled him, his father laying a protective hand on his son's shoulder even as he held his wife with the other, and they both told him several times, "No one is allowed to hurt you." Those words had repeated over and over again in his head, becoming a mantra he would murmur to himself. He clung to them, drilling them into his memory as hard as he could.

_No one is allowed to hurt you._

That was something Kiyo would never forget.

Word Count: 892 / 37666

**067.** Snow

"So where is he now?"

Kirihara's tone was casual, but Sengoku, used to long years of deciphering Akutsu's various growling intonations, easily picked out the hard line of steel embedded in his words.

"Living somewhere else," Sengoku said, shrugging. "He was diagnosed with OCD and mild schizophrenia. He served time in a mental hospital instead of jail. Then he got out a few years ago and moved away. He's better now that he's on his meds, but my mother doesn't want him near us. I can't say I disagree."

"What about your dad?"

"Visits him once a year, mainly to make sure he stays on his meds, and to make sure he's okay." Sengoku blew out his breath in a sigh. "I don't really blame him so much, anymore. I mean, he was a sick man. But I'm glad I don't have to deal with seeing him."

"Mmm."

Sengoku stopped walking. Obviously surprised, Kirihara stopped and turned around, looking at him in confusion. "Sengoku?"

"I just spilled my guts about something I've been trying very hard not to think about for a long time," Sengoku said quietly. "That means you owe me. And I want to know what you came here to tell me." He had his own suspicions, but he was getting a little tired with the hedging.

Kirihara scowled. "I'm getting there."

"Not fast enough."

"I know, I just..." Kirihara abruptly flopped to the ground, folding his legs and propping his chin in his hand. He waved at Sengoku. "Sit. I'm tired."

Snorting back an amused laugh, Sengoku joined him. "So? Spill."

Kirihara leaned back on his hands and unfolded his legs, stretching them out along the length of the track. "My parents suck."

Sengoku didn't say anything.

"My mom never wanted kids, you know? But that's what people do when they get married. I don't blame her for not taking any real interest in me, or the things I do, but she still sucks." Kirihara's eyes were half-closed, staring fixedly at his sneakers. "My dad is a real genius when it comes to business. Everyone wants him to come solve their problems, so he's gone a lot. When he's home, he's pissed off over everything. Hell, I don't think he wanted kids either, but like I said, that's just the way things are done, right?"

Sengoku folded his arms, head tilted to one side. "They hit you?"

"Yes. No. Well, not like what you mean. It's more like I get a smack down for mouthing off, or for failing a test, or whatever. I never been hospitalized or nothing – just bruises and stuff." Kirihara barked out a short, dry laugh. "Maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way. I mean, if they cared enough to hit me, that's obviously proof that they cared about me in _some_ way, right?"

Sengoku didn't like the way Kirihara was using the past tense. "What happened?" He prodded gently. Something must have, to make Kirihara break out of a pattern of bottling things up, and force him to go on a two hour run to find someone who would listen.

He was right.

"Mom's gone. Took off while I was at camp." Kirihara's voice was suddenly very controlled, his words clipped and terse. "I came home and found my dad at the bottom of a bottle. He left this morning on a business trip. Don't know when he'll be back."

He hated being right. "He left you alone?" After the thirteen year old learned that his mother had left? Sengoku suddenly wanted very much to meet Kirihara's dad and show off the boxing skills he'd picked up over the past few months.

"Not the first time," Kirihara said bluntly. "Won't be the last." He snapped his gaze on to Sengoku's like twin laser beams. "I'm not telling you this because I want you to do anything, got it? I just... needed to tell someone. Someone who... " He stopped, and his eyes dropped again.

"Someone who knows." Sengoku finished his sentence again. "I understand." And he did, in a way. Kirihara could talk to him for the same reason Sengoku had found it almost disturbingly easy to tell his own story to the Rikkai player. Rivals in tennis, they were suddenly brothers in their own spilled blood.

They sat their for a minute before Sengoku's phone went off. He jumped, and then answered it. It was Minami – practice was over, and Sengoku owed him extra laps for ditching the last half.

Kirihara was pulling grass out of the ground next to the track. "I should go," he said. He stood up, brushing dirt off his track pants.

Sengoku had the feeling Kirihara was embarrassed over his mini-breakdown. Not that it had been much of one, but then, they still didn't know each other well enough in other ways to trust each other with an emotional outpouring. "You gonna be okay?"

"Of course." The tone again, implied that Sengoku was an idiot for assuming otherwise.

Sengoku held out his hand. "Phone," he demanded, fingers wiggling. Kirihara blinked, but handed over his cell phone. Sengoku tisked when he saw all the missed calls. "You should answer when people call," he said, entering his own cell number into Kirihara' s phone. "It's rude to just ignore them."

"Shut up."

Now _that_ sounded like the Kirihara he knew. "Call me if you wanna talk again."

"Sure."

Sengoku glared at the second year. "I mean it."

"I said I would, didn't I?" Kirihara glared right back at him, before it dissolved into a smirk. "What, don't trust me?" He put a hand to his chest. "I'm hurt that you could ever think me capable of lying to you."

"Oh yeah, pure as the driven snow, you are," Sengoku muttered. "At least text me or something when you get home, so I know you didn't throw yourself in front of a bullet train, okay?"

"Yes, mom." Kirihara sketched a salute. "See ya 'round."

"Brat," Sengoku said, but it was with affection, and he waved amiably at the boy until he disappeared. Then his smile turned into a more contemplative frown as he took out his own cell phone. He wavered over it for a while, tapping his finger against the plastic casing.

Finally, he came to a decision and he searched his address book for a phone number not many people knew he had. The line rang once before someone picked up on the other end. Sengoku spoke first.

"Hey... it's me."

Word Count: 1047 / 38711

**068.** Lightening

Sanada was frowning heavily as he and Renji made their way through the hospital. As a last resort after checking Akaya's home, they had double-checked the street court near Rikkai again. When they didn't see their missing teammate, Renji wound up giving in and texting a message to Sadaharu to keep his eyes open. Inui was not quite on his level when it came to data collecting electronically, but he had excellent observational skills – and his teammates were rather easily led into situations to gather data on his behalf – usually by crashing private practices and property. If Akaya was anywhere near Seigaku or the surrounding area, Renji had no doubt Sadaharu would know.

Yukimura had told them to come back to the hospital when they'd phoned him earlier. Despite his lingering weakness, he was still the captain of Rikkai, and therefore demanded to be a part of what was going on.

Renji ran over the data in his mind. Akaya had missed school and both tennis practices. He was not answering his phone. His parents were not home, and the house had been in a severe state of disarray. It was that state that had Renji convinced that the family had not packed up and gone on an impromptu vacation. Akaya's father was most likely gone on business. Akaya could have been skipping. But with that line of reasoning, Renji would have expected Akaya's mother to be home. Warm and overly friendly, she was not, but she was a person who followed proper etiquette in public, and she had never failed to call the school when Akaya had been sick before.

"It's about time you two got here," said a tired, yet amused voice.

Renji looked up, belatedly realizing they'd arrived at their destination. On the bed, still pale, but looking so much better than he had before his surgery, was Yukimura, smiling patiently at them. "Seichi?"

The blue-haired boy held up his small phone. The one he technically wasn't allowed to have inside the hospital, but hid from his nurses. "I know where Akaya is."

Renji and Sanada exchanged rueful glances. Somehow, this was not completely unexpected. Yukimura ability to learn what was going on was nearly legendary. Sanada tilted the brim of his hat, looking at his captain. "Where is he?"

"At Yamabuki. He's on his way back now." Yukimura smiled benignly at them. "I think it would be nice if someone were to go meet him and make sure our wayward teammate is okay."

Renji recognized that tone, and nodded briskly. "Why didn't you let us know?"

"I just got off the phone with Sengoku-kun," Yukimura replied. "I assumed you were nearly here as it was."

Renji could accept that, though what Yukimura was doing talking with such familiarity to the vice-captain of a mediocre team like Yamabuki was beyond him. "I'll go and check on Akaya," he said, bowing slightly before leaving the room.

Word count: 492 / 39203

**069**. Thunder

Akaya toed off his shoes at the doorway. His mother obviously wasn't there to lecture him about wearing his shoes in the house, but Akaya took them off anyway. The house still reeked of stale alcohol, and despite the exhaustion that tugged at him, he knew if he went to bed, he'd only be staring at the wall again.

Grabbing a couple of garbage bags from the kitchen, he went into the living room and began cleaning it up. He opted to toss all the bottles into one bag and sort through them later to see what he could take back to refund at the store. The rest of the wrappers, broken figurines and beer-soaked magazines went directly into the trash.

He was making headway with the stains on the coffee table when he heard a knock on the front door. Before he could stand up, the door opened and a loud voice boomed, "AKAYA?"

He froze, half-convinced his father had lied about his business trip and had come home. Then he realized the voice didn't have the same crack to it that his father's did, and a relieved sigh escaped him before he could stop it. He got to his feet just as Renji entered the living room. Both of them started at the sight of the other.

"Nice manners," Akaya said awkwardly, after a tense minute. "You always barge into people's homes without an invitation?"

"Considering that this is the second time today I've done so, I would say there is strong evidence suggesting that this does seem to be turning into a habit." Renji was looking him up and down, as though verifying Akaya was in one piece. "Are you all right?"

"Just peachy," Akaya said, shrugging. "Look, I know Sanada's probably pissed that I missed practice. I'll be there early tomorrow and run extra laps, okay?"

He was stunned when Renji glared at him. "Sanada is more worried than angry, Akaya. As was I, Yukimura, and the rest of the team. Did it not occur to you to call someone? Or at the very least, answer your phone?"

Akaya blinked, not expecting such an angry barrage, especially coming from Renji. "Worried...?"

"You missed morning practice. You did not show up at school. No one called the school to say you'd be out. No one was here when we came to check on you, yet the doors were unlocked. The living room was filled with garbage, broken pieces of glass, and beer bottles. You were not answering your phone." Renji's voice was rising with every point he counted off. "Yes, we were worried. What did you think would happen?"

Akaya sat down on the newly-cleaned coffee table, completely past surprised and shooting straight into chagrined. "I didn't think..."

"No, I dare say you didn't." Renji folded his arms, and took a deep breath. "What were you doing at Yamabuki?"

That brought Akaya's head snapping back up, fire lighting his eyes. "How the hell did you know that? Did he call you?"

"I assume you're referring to Sengoku-san, and no, he did not contact me. He called Yukimura, who sent me to make sure you're all right." Renji settled himself on a chair across from Kirihara's perch on the table. "Would you like to start at the beginning?"

Akaya looked at him, and then looked at his hands, dangling between his knees. All his fight was gone, drained as suddenly as though a biological plug had been pulled. Between the stress of his situation, a night of very little sleep, two very, _very_ long jogs across districts, and his near emotional breakdown with the Yamabuki player, he had no resources, no defenses left. Renji was not the person to verbally spar with when you were at anything less than one hundred percent – he was the only person known to even schmooze details out of Yukimura's doctors despite strict doctor/patient confidentiality, and put them together to create whole pict—no, entire _landscapes_ of understanding. He was just too worn out, too worn thin to even begin to think of a way to sidetrack the brilliant analyst in his living room, and so he did the only thing he could.

He gave up.

With a final sigh, he looked up at his sempai, and told him the truth.

Word Count: 729 / 39932

**070.** Storm

Kirihara picked up another tennis ball and looked across at his target. The tiny 'x' painted dead center on the practice wall was nearly invisible, but he could hit it with nearly embarrassing ease. Two years of training against that wall made it so he could probably hit it in his sleep. In order to increase the difficulty, Akaya had taken to practicing with two balls at once, hitting the first with a forehand, and the second with a backhand, and continuing the rally until he slipped up.

Renji was no doubt back at the hospital, informing Yukimura of Akaya's current situation. Or he was at home, phoning in his report. Or he was at Sanada's, who was talking to Yukimura on the phone as fast as Renji could tell him the details. Either way, once the three of them had the details, it would only be a matter of time until the rest of the Regulars knew. Things that upset the balance of the team were shared, in the hopes that the weight could be borne a little easier. Unfortunately, Akaya didn't see how they were going to be able to help him. He had a feeling he hadn't seen the worst of it yet – like this moment was the calm before the storm. Kami only knew what was going to happen when his dad got back next week.

He was still trying to adjust to the fact that his mother had left. Permanently, it seemed. She had always been a bit cold and distant to Akaya, but she had also been a steady, constant presence in the house. And no matter how much she may not have wanted to have kids, as he'd told Sengoku, she'd always made sure he had everything he could need. He'd never wanted for any material thing. And without the sounds of her moving around downstairs, the house seemed unbearably empty, which was why Akaya was still on the street courts at 10:00 at night.

He shook his head and bounced the tennis ball slowly. He had to focus, get his concentration back. The Goodwill Games were a week away – he needed to be ready. He threw the ball up in the air and fired the first shot off, bringing his racquet back up almost immediately to send the second one after it. But his aim was off this time, and the first ball ricocheted back at an angle that would leave him unable to return in time to hit the second one.

Catching the second return, he turned to head off after the first ball, and stopped short as he registered the familiar person standing there. "Marui-sempai."

"Hey kiddo." Marui tossed him the ball. "Kinda late to be practicing."

Akaya caught the ball automatically. "What did Renji do – call everyone on the team and inform them all personally?" His fingers tightened on the tennis ball, angry at the thought. He knew they'd all find out eventually, but it was almost like Renji was trying to spread the news as fast as he could.

Marui looked apologetic. "Sorry, Aka-chan, but I was visiting Yukimura-Buchou when Renji came back to tell him and Sanada what was going on. He'd texted that he found you, but wanted to tell the story in person. Since I was there, I got the full scoop." He shrugged. "If it makes you feel any better, no one else knows yet. Renji will probably tell Yagyuu and Niou tomorrow."

"I don't see why everyone needs to know," Akaya said petulantly. He whirled around, tightening his grip on his racquet. "S'not like anyone can do anything about this."

"True 'nough," Maru said agreeably. "But at the very least, we can keep you from being alone. I mean, I don't know about you, but I can never sleep very well when there's no one else around." He held up his backpack, blowing out a large bubble with an obnoxiously loud POP as he did so. "C'mon Aka-chan. If I don't get at least seven hours of sleep, no amount of sugar is gonna keep me going on the court tomorrow."

Akaya stared at the schoolbag, pride warring with a need for someone, anyone, to keep the loneliness at bay. "I'm not a baby," he said weakly.

"Never said you were." Marui slung his bag back over his shoulder. "This is me being a good sempai. Be thankful I volunteered. Sanada felt as Fukou-Buchou, it should have been his responsibility to babysit you, and then you'd really be sorry. He'd have you up at 5AM with him, doing katas to 'clear your mind' or some bullshit like that."

"Sounds like I dodged a bullet." Akaya put his racquet in his tennis bag, tucking the two tennis balls into a side pocket. Then he looked seriously at his teammate. "Thanks, Marui-sempai." His face was flushing bright red, he just knew it was.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the greatest." Marui walked over and slung his arm over Akaya's shoulders, picking up the bag for him. "C'mon, we have time for cheese popcorn and the last half of Supernatural."

"I hate American TV shows," Akaya grumbled, but let his sempai drag him off.

"If you studied your English more, you wouldn't mind it."

"Yanagi-sempai and Sanada-Fukou-Buchou have already gotten on my case about my grades. Don't you start."

"Someone's gotta watch out for the team baby."

Akaya let a small smile slip on to his face, though he hid it from Marui. He was lucky to have seven people watching his back.

Word Count: 934 / 40866

**o0o o0o o0o o0o o0o o0o**

**TBC...**

**End Notes: ** Obviously, Sengoku's backstory is of my own creation. shrugs It suited my purpose and I had it in mind a long time ago. Constructive feedback is always welcome.


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